Questioning Page

How many things are you?

Who am I?

The question sat in black ink, falling into my page. The rest black, tapping pen erupted into a constant annoyance. I glanced around the room eyes shredding over the covered wall. They came to rest on a single picture handing at the front. Taken with singing colours, I looked harder, as if I could find the answer in its depths. A gentle river lapsed to meet a bush of trees, reflecting onto the still surface. And as I stared at the picture, I saw a small figure walking along the grassy surface, solitary, alone.

And I was there, feeling the soft grass grow in tufts under my feet, hearing the river silently rush to the sea. This is who I was, a girl, enjoying the earth as it was formed, not as it was made.

On my page, I began to write, I am a girl, enjoying the world. For at that moment, that was who I was.

As the river continued to run I could hear the birds praising song into the air, singing with a yearning to be heard. A flick erupted from a brazen tree, and as they passed I took flight into the air. Wings outstretched I soared, face turned into the wind. A melody of beauty came from my airborne companions.

I am a bird, flying with the wind.

Feather feelings the air’s caress, we flew, softly beginning to enter the canopy of colours of the horizon. Feathers turns to faded light, body to a huge expanse. Around me, all light glowed, creating a formation of colours. Around me, all light came, accepting me into its midst.

I am a colour, creating a sunset.

But as the sun began to fall, so did I. Colours turning to black, song fading into the wind. And as I fell, I touched the river,, joining its deep expanse. Running down its breadth, I slithered, twisting over the rock, turning with its currents. On either side green forests made way for plains, dry arid heat causing the grass to brown. But still I ran strong, every heightening as I began to reach the ground ahead. With a narrow twist it came, mountains of water tumbling over the other to reach the ocean.

I am a river, running to the ocean.

The river now a trickle compared to the hills that sat beyond, I spun, coming face to the body that now greeted me. Fish plodded through the giant waves, an underwater world brought to my eyes. Seaweed caressed the sharks that hid between, not threatening to give up the secrets of its stalking water.

I am an ocean, hiding a world beneath.

Water began to turn to waves, tumbling me over its top. I let it take me, rolling until it began to lessen, slowly dropping to little more than a current. With this, I washed onto the beach, feeling the grainy sand dampen under my foamy tips.

I am a wave, washing to the shore.

As I began to sweep back to the ocean, I jolted away, a rim of red holding my body, splashing over the sand that passed. It ended with a final jolt, the red making way for the looming grits. I folded into the sand, hands quickly moulding me to shape. Cracking, I became a twisted castle, holding shells and a waiting damsel in distress.

I am sand, moulding to become a castle.

Gentle hands smoothed my body, hands that were covered in soft caresses of unscarred skin.

I looked at my own hands then, sitting over my page. Bruised with age, they had once been that girls who had so carefully made the castle with growing pride. But not, that was the past, and here I sat, with still no answer before me.

I am the past, now the present , soon the future.

I looked down at my page, at the ink smudging as my hand has brushed against it.

I am a girl. I am a bird. I am a colour. I am a river. I am an ocean. I am a wave. I am sand. I am the past, present and future.

I am alive.

As I looked at these things, I once again rose my eyes and saw an image reflected in the picture.

I am alive.

Reviews

[Marie]

A beautiful, sensitive piece; the writer becoming all these things. I suppose a good writer can feel all those things and write about them, as you have.