Writings

The trees, grand and wise with age, were a welcoming sight. Their age-old branches intertwined like great serpents and their leaves covered the canopy, giving the forest an almost enchanted atmosphere. The sunlight trickled down through the leaves of the great covering above. I felt that I was in the presence of something great and alive, something that had seen and felt many things in the span of its existence. Great stories they’d have to say if they could speak.

A rush of emotion came over me. It was an overwhelming mixture of sadness, pensiveness, joy, nostalgia for a gone age, and a few other emotions that I couldn’t quite place. But I was calm. Like a doting parent encouraging a child just learning how to walk, the forest seemed to be holding my hand and making me feel safe and loved. I let my mind drift with the thoughts that entered it.

I felt like a child of the universe. How beautiful is the world! The worries of society seemed laughable. There we were in our big cities, rushing around to serve others, please others, and fit into its folds like an ant in a colony, unaware of the grand scale of things beyond it. The universe, the trees, the sky, the oceans. We forget that they are here. All the beautiful smells to breathe in. All the beautiful sights to see. All the beauty of the world around them. This is Paradise.

I felt happiness beyond compare, and a wild sense of belonging with the world around me. In the presence of the trees, the breeze, the sun, and the grass at my feet, I felt the presence of God. Whether there is such a being or not, I felt God. I felt the Transcendent. There was something there with me in the forest, making me feel this way. I felt in touch with my roots, my ancestors who had walked on this dirt, with mother nature that had nurtured and protected them.

I looked at the sheet of paper on my desk, with it’s contents scribbled on and almost seeming to reflect the knot in my head, all wanting to get their say and none succeeding. Crumbling up the paper, I sighed and tossed it into the trashcan.

Why was it that whenever I was in a random place, I was able to make up the deep and lyrical thoughts, all perfect and neat, but as I sit down to write these thoughts fly out the window and fill me with hopelessness?

I glanced a look at the old clock on my table and cursed. I was late.

I grabbed my bag which was still where I had left it yesterday and ran out the door.

All of us sat there around the room, broken and in need of fixing. Longing for a smile to grace our forlorn faces.

Waiting for someone to stop and listen to the words we had to say. Waiting………

Never satisfied but still having the faintest hope in humanity.

Hope that lasted through the harsh conditions we went through. Hope that kept us going, albeit barely.

Sometimes we wonder, how could people have become so inhumane, too enveloped in the matters of their own lives to care about another.

Was this the same great race that used to believe that in the game of life, every player matters.

Not just the quarterbacks and all the rest of them.

EVERYONE MATTERS.

Or so they said.

Where were they when society decided to pick on the underdogs. Where were they when innocent souls were torn apart and crushed underneath the wheels of an ever-developing society.

Back to the matter at hand, we looked around at the broken faces around us and felt, for a second there, that maybe we could all somehow rise from our depths of chaos because in the eyes we met, we recognized something very familiar and very close to home.

The night was drawing to an end.

The light which previously shone brightly on the streets of the city was now cowering behind the storm clouds stretching across the sky. The surroundings painted a depressing picture, reflected the state of his mind.

Ever since that day, he felt as if nothing or anyone could uplift him again.

The sight of his little sister being brutally run over by that drunk driver haunted him.

He could still remember telling her to hurry home.

If only he had known.

Now, his conscience seemed to have fallen into the depths of despair. His heart seemed to reach out for help, for support from anyone.

All he needed was someone to listen to him; someone he could pour his heart out to.

But it wasn’t as easy as it seemed. He had always been very good at hiding his true feelings. What the world saw of him barely demonstrated his true state of mind: depression.

He sometimes wondered if he could ever live life properly again. Life seemed strange to him now. Even if he tried to, the voices in his head wouldn’t allow it. But the what-ifs always crossed his mind and he would be left thinking about whether he could somehow persuade the voices in his head to think differently.

Would he be able to convince them? Was a question he asked himself whenever he thought of such things.

Too bad he couldn’t make up his mind before making that hasty decision that night. It was unbearable. His mind was flooded with thoughts telling him to do it. It was as if he was not aware of anything anymore. The touch of that rope against his bare neck was the last thing he ever felt.

I had never imagined myself as the person I was forced to be.

The woman standing before me looked at me through eyes filled with fear but she tried to hide it. I knew this because I was feeling the same way. I didn’t want to do this. I am not this person I was pretending to be. I loved this woman and the old me would never have agreed to hurt her. She loved me like her own child and now I had turned my back on her.

Her lips, for the first time, not welcoming me with that warm smile that made me feel like she was the mother I never had and that maybe we were fine just the way we were. Just the three of us against the world. But I have to do this. I have to, if I want my little sister to live.

It all started the day before. I was walking home after school. I hadn’t stayed at home as long as I usually do because I wanted to be home for my sister’s birthday. As I walked onto the doorstep of the cute little cottage we called home, my sister came running out shrieking excitedly about her turning seven.

My father was not much of a loving parent. He didn’t care about family. He didn’t care about blood. He was incapable of feeling that way. After doing the dishes, I walked out through the back door to have some fresh air. Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed me and pushed me up against the wall with a knife to my throat.

“That woman, Mrs Owens, I want her dead.” “You hear me? Dead!” “If you don’t listen to me, I’ll make sure you pay. I know you love yer sister.”

She had been a mother to me ever since she found out about the situation we were in. I couldn’t do that to her…but my sister.

In the end, after fighting an inner battle within myself, I decided that I love my sister more than anything. As much as it pains me to do it, I have to. I had to keep the promise I had made to her.

At the right time, at the right place, I walked solemnly down the streets, with a dagger in my pocket. As I turned the corner, I saw her. As soon as I saw her, my blood ran cold. I didn’t want to but I dragged my feet forward as I looked at her with tears in my eyes. “I’m sorry. I have to,” I cried out through the tears starting to spill.

“I understand.” Then, with tears dripping down my cheeks, I pushed the dagger into her chest. The chest I had run to, weeping after I got pushed in a puddle by the big kids at school. The chest that had always been open to me. That same chest now heaved with the dagger I had plunged into it. I watched her fall limply and I dropped to the ground and sobbed.