Starlight

A Story by Storyteller

Warm, golden sunlight drifting through a frosted window pane casts a bright shape upon the shadowed floor. I lie in a nest of pillows and heavy blankets, barely opening my tired eyes. Exhausted from the day before, I lay in bed, watching my fiery orange feline lazily purring in brilliant sunbeams on the ground. Smiling, I sit up and push my tangled hair from my face. Such a wonderful winter morning should not be wasted. I sit down on the soft carpet and stroke my gleeful kitten. Oh, how soft she feels! Carefully, as not to wake her, I step out of the room.

Pictures with laughing children line the hallways, and between each closed door, artwork from long ago is pasted onto the yellow walls. I see a dog walking along the bank of a river, a mouse stealing cheese before a snoozing cat, and a purple dragon with a boy smiling up at him. The boy... I recognize him. Even with his features scribbled in crayon, I know who this drawing is made to resemble. Mark. Finally grasping the thought in my mind, I hold it tight. My brother. Mark, the athlete. Mark, the teacher's pet. Mark, who would be here for now if not for the war. Why? Why did he have to leave and join the army? If not for that horrible fighting he wouldn't have been shot. He would have had a family and lived a long happy life. I fight back tears, and force the thought out of my mind. It's over. I have to move on.

I creep down the stairs, stepping lightly to not wake my parents. I walk through our tiled kitchen, the stone cold beneath my bare feet. Reaching the mudroom, I pull on my boots, not caring whether I have socks on or not. I throw on my heavy winter coat, and step out the open door.

What I see is not the same as the night before. The grass is blanketed in snow. Tree boughs bend to the ground from the heavy, freezing load they have to carry. A cardinal flies by. All I can see is a flash of his ruby wings as he rushes past. A woodpecker hammers on a tree, boring a hole in the trunk. I glance around, viewing my surroundings, with a look of wonder on my face. Out in the snow-frosted forest, the only things to be heard are birds twittering in the overhead canopy and a soft breeze whispering through the laden limbs of birches, oaks, and many more.

I step out from a line of trees and look out over beautiful, sparkling Lake Michigan from the top of a dune. Drifts of snow lie here and there over the smooth white sand. I step down the dune to the water's edge and take off my boots.

Freezing cold water tickles my toes. I relish the morning sunlight and stand and silently, calmly watch while the sun climbs slowly higher into the sky. Icicles hang suspended on the beech branch nearest to me like winter crystals. Ripples of sunbeams dance across the smooth surface of the great lake, casting stories and legends in pictures across the sand and snow.

Walking through the woods is like walking through the very heart of music and curiosity. It not only warms the soul, it inspires; it strengthens the imagination. These thoughts resting inside me all grew from a simple early-morning stroll through this magical winter wonderland.

The beauty of it all is so enchanting and amazing. I smile and gently, slowly drift away into a land of dreams and laughter.

I open my eyes and suddenly, I am in the midst of a battle. Guns are being fired, men falling by the dozens. I spot my brother. Mark. I am overjoyed. I try to run to him, to jump into his arms, but I am being pushed back by the crowd of soldiers around me. I cry and fight to reach him, to embrace him and never let go, but I am forced backwards by the mob of men in combat surrounding me, weakening me. A man is sneaking up behind Mark, aiming a weapon at his back. I scream, I shriek, I do all I can to warn him, but it is no use; he cannot hear me over the terrifying sounds of death and bloodshed. I can't bear to see him die, it would break me, crush me; I would never be the same again.

My image dissolves, and I return to reality. It is dusk. Everything is calm and engulfed in light shadows. I think about my dream, the horrible vision that demolished my beautiful and magical morning. I look up to the evening sky and sweep my gaze throughout the universe above me. I see a star, a beacon in the violet haze. A single, cold tear runs down my cheek and drops to the ground. Oh, Mark.

Life... such a beautiful and cruel thing. Mark's precious life, cut too short by the vicious actions of mankind. My life, crippled because of the death of my brother, a loved one, my family. My face is now hot with tears. I cry silently, reality creeping over me. No, life isn't cruel, it's the actions we make. Step by step, we end up in despair. Murdering life without reason, especially those of our own kind, is bloodthirsty, yet we do it endlessly. Though wars end, new battles begin, one right after the other.

If the conflicts would just end... I wish... I don't know what I wish. All awful encounters, actions and feelings can't end. If there was no sorrow, no pain, no anger, there wouldn't be joy. If not for hate, love would cease to exist. Feeling cheerful all the time would kill personality. It would decimate all reason to create more, to strengthen.

I look up the the single star, thinking of Mark. As if to tell me to go on, the star twinkled with a sudden brightness that had been hidden before. I wiped the tears from my cheeks, a determined look on my face. I will not give up. I will refuse to let myself fall from the sorrow in my soul. I will use my anger; strengthen it, be all I can be, in the name of my fallen brother.

As if in unison with my heart, my mind, my thoughts, my soul, the shimmer in the sky exploded with brilliance. It seemed to me that it pushed away the clouds in the sky and in my mind, exposing me to new, exciting ideas and actions. Many stars appeared in the sky, ar ound the most dazzling star up above: my brother.