Being Alive

Don't we all just follow shadows sometimes? Perhaps sometimes...they lead to color. This is a short story following a girl who rediscovers a breath of colorful reality.

The dark grays of the world surrounded the empty world, which was utterly full of nothing. Trees dotted the mountain cities, and trails led up stone paths to high places, but nothing was there. It all seemed hollow, with its monochromic palette creating an untouchable illusion of life. Where could the sun shine, if it couldn't shine for real? Nowhere. Where could trees grow if they didn't have a reason? Nowhere. So there was nothing.

A girl climbed the stone path upward, the incline leading further to the mountain peak. Birds chirped dully, ringing in and out of her ears as she continued onward, muscles tensing with each step she took. The sounds echoed and disappeared, their noise just as gray as the world around her. The stones themselves felt numb against her bare feet, and the beat of her heart seemed to be the only thing keeping her going. The incessant beating, so naturally simple, felt almost programmed. Even as her heart beat, it gave no signs of life.

She crossed a stream, it's rushing waters clear and blended with the rest of the world; the chill of it seemed numb and lukewarm at the same time. She hit the path once again, and followed the lines of stone and bushes as they patterned the steep landscape. Turning a corner, she saw she was finally at the top of the mountain. The atmosphere seemed heavy and light at the same time, but with each breath, she realized it didn't faze her. Instead, she continued to walk toward the center of the mountain top, and as she drew closer, she saw a faint shape within the misty surrounding. The mist she couldn't feel.

The shape took form with each step she took toward it, morphing into a human being. The man stood on the edge of the mountain, facing out above the cities. His eyes scanned over the area, but she could tell he was looking at nonexistence of the world itself. She drew closer to him, looking up at his face. It was set in place, his handsome features holding no meaning. His eyes seemed forlorn, sad. His soul burned nowhere in them, as if that, too, were something that had been taken from the world. She stood next to him on the edge, and turned her gaze above the scene in front of her. The shadows and grays attempted to accentuate the plain emptiness, but only resulted in a depressing outlining of life.

She wanted to remember when it wasn't like this. She knew there had been more. She knew there was something missing. But she couldn't even recall what exactly that was. Although, she did know one thing.

Yes, she knew she had changed.

It had changed. She had changed. The man next to her had changed.

Yet, inside of her, she could feel the longing of a return. The longing of getting to the place where they belonged. She longed for reality. It burned inside of her. But it seemed impossible to feel. The longing, the world, perception; it all seemed to have been sanded down into a speck of dust. Her only hope was that she herself hadn't become a speck. She knew she was still aware, still here, and she figured, as long as she had hope, she was able to return.

To get to where she belonged.

She knew something was horribly wrong. It was all wrong. In knowing it was wrong, she knew her hope had depth. The only depth she had. How long must she wait to escape what she lacked?

Turning back to the man beside her, she outstretched her fingers toward his arm. She slid them over his skin gently, and he turned to face her in response. He blinked, gazing into her eyes. She stared at his familiar face, knowing concern was lining her features. Slowly, she pulled him closer to her, into an embrace. She leaned against his chest and let his arms surround her small body. She felt his muscles tense as he gripped her back with soft hands.

Closing her eyes tightly, she listened dearly to his heartbeat, the faint movement of his chest. It felt concrete, like his heart had been replaced with the icy gray that had surrounded the world. Yet, she could feel it crying out to her, resisting the diminishment of life.

He was silent, still, calm.

But he was screaming, crying, and fighting.

She could hear his cry, his internal hurt, and she knew it was the portrayal of the same longing she herself was struggling for. She wanted nothing more but to rescue him from the world, from the change, from himself. She didn't want this to be the last thing he woke up to, the last memory he had. She wanted to revive him; revive her; revive life.

Holding him tighter, she nuzzled deeper into his chest, and she felt him pull her closer also. Why did this have to be this way? Life was nonexistently there; a perfectly terrible version of an oxymoron. It wasn't right, and it needed change.

She felt a tear escape her eye, soaking into the man's shirt.

Then the pain came.

The tear seemed to be a gateway, to release all her broken hope. Her heart exploded within her, and all the pain she subconsciously held ripped out. And she felt it. It wasn't a a dull speck; it was real. She bent her head and cried out, letting the tears stream down her face, feeling their freezing touch on her cheeks. She trembled and shook, gripping desperately to the man in front of her as her heart broke. The hope inside of her seemed to expand, choking her as it came out of its shell. She let it race through her, let it warm her blood. She allowed it take shape. She willed it on, and it sent a tremor through her spine, surrounding her. The air began to taste sweeter, lighter, and the mist started to kiss her shoulders with its true touch; a touch she hadn't felt in any memory.

It burned with reality.

She let it through. She let it engulf her longing, every speck she had tried desperately to revive. One by one, the seconds passed, but the time held a new meaning. The warmth she had been waiting for stole through her body, and she could feel it ease into the man's chest. She heard his heart crack it's stone, and soon he began to tremble also. She lifted her tear-stained face to look at him, her eyes wide.

His eyes faded to a crystal blue as they locked gazes, and they blinded her with their color. They were wide with existence, reality. They took on a new depth, one that she had been waiting to see in him for as long as she could remember. They burned with a new meaning, and she knew hers did also. Color began to flood his face, and his scent filled her lungs. A feeling she hadn't been able to feel returned with full force, pushing her to action. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into the crook of his collarbone. He mimicked her actions. She loved him. She was able to love again.

She was truly alive.

Then, with new found existence, she pulled away just enough to face the valley below them.

The sun shone, and the trees lived.

The shadows disintegrated with the prospect of new hope and survival.

This is where she belonged.

Author's Note

Thoughts?

Reviews

[Doug Scibeck]

How much of the inner journey was resolved by the outer journey up the mountain? I like the unspoken connection at the summit where she reaches her epiphany. We can feel some of her confusion and pain as it is resolved. It's a good story of how a woman came alive again to the world around her. It makes me want to read companion stories of how she became numb, and then what prompted her to make the climb.

[Coyote Poetry]

A very good journey in your words.
"She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face into the crook of his collarbone. He mimicked her actions. She loved him. She was able to love again."
The color of life and thoughts. Had more purpose than people know. I like the feel of thoughts and struggle leading to the very good ending. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote