I feel like no one ever knows the answer, and that we struggle every day trying to find it. The answer to everything. The answer to anything. I let my mind and conscience wander more and more as my eyes searched for objects outside the window.
Cars drove by, and a light gale of wind somehow managed to sweep through the leaves. I began to wonder how much of the world is covered in green. How that green is alive. How, for plants, green is the color of life.
A bluebird suddenly appeared in front of my eyes, perching on a nearby branch. I wondered what meaning its color had. How a small bluebird stands out from bright green leaves. How a bird is so different from a tall oak tree.
I’ve always tried to recognize patterns, but I seem to forget one more than others. That we are all connected. The trees, a bird, and a boy. Not by our appearance. Not by our colors. But by the fact that we are alive, and that we are beautiful.
“Get the police? Stay put? Tend to your pregnant girlfriend at home instead of rushing down to the basementtobusttheheadopenofsomeguywho’shoardingpitbulls?”
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat.”
Then it vanishes. She watches the sun disappear behind a thatched roof of great, billowing thunderclouds.Theskymeldsintoadispiritedgrey.Winduptheregetsstrongandhusky,painting goosebumpsalongherskin,leavingherfloatingbetweensnow-cappedmountainsandtheunderside ofpurgatory.
unseeable twine of steel. She can’tgobackhome,shecan’t speak to those she loves, she cannotevenseehertownfrom up there. Floating, gradually, becomes a despondent nightmare,andallshehasarea chilled sky and even colder emotions.
She shrinks inside of herself, a vulnerable ball of flesh exposed to a vast and hollowvoid.
My gaze slowly drifted back to the windows of the room. They took over three walls and stretched all the wayuptotheceiling.Theirlightgleamedadjacenttothepiano,bookcases,andantiquerugs.Thesunlighthitthe roomintheperfectway,inthatyoucouldseetheparticlesofdustfloatingamidsttheair.Icouldn’tpullmyeyesaway fromthebeam,ortheoutsideworldfromwhichitcamefrom.OutsideofMissIdett’shousewasasmallforest,where lilacsnestledinthebushes.Thegrasswaslong,asifshedidn’tcareaboutmowingit.IfIpeeredmyeyesenough,I couldalmostseetheotherhousesintheneighborhoodfromadistance;butoutsidethesunroom,therewasaquiet solitudethatonlybustlingfoliagecouldlivein.Myhearttuggedatmychest,almostleapingtogetout.Ifeltrestless fromsimplybeingindoors,butIfeltmorerestlesshavingthatveryclimbabletreerightinfrontofmyeyes.
Her eyes fell into a half-closed position, and her mouth in a resigned pout. She sighed, “You seem a bit distracted.Wouldyouliketojustcallittherefortoday?”
Ididn’twasteasecondlonger.Ihurriedtowardsthebikesandtriedtopickouttheoldest-lookingone,justin casesomethinghappenedtoit.Withme,somethingalwaysseemedtohappen.Rushingexcitementflowedthrough melikeoceanwaves.Giddy,Ihoppedontothe seat. Moving my feet on the pedals, I went as fast as I could—I didn’t have a minute to lose. I was finally free.
I had never been in this area before. Not alone, at least. As I biked, I took in the town around me. It was a pleasant neighborhood, each house was snuggled up against the other. The shingled roofs were a light crimson, and no two houses looked exactly alike. Vines crept along the upper outer walls, cracks along the bottom. In my eyes, it only made them all look more lovely.
The road was made out of cobblestone bricks, so the wheels of the bike jumped as I rode along the street. I tried not to look at the people as I passed. I couldn’t look at them, I felt their eyes burning into me.
My mind was willing my legs to push faster, I was too anxious to stay in town. I needed to get myself into nature—the nature I could only so rarely get to see.
The town became less and less as I soared through it, until I was biking along a dirt road on a plain. I could see mountains, bluely faded in the distance, behind the never-ending field. The grass swayed with the wind, and it looked like water along a green lake.
I didn’t know where I was meaning to go. I had no plan for this. I only followed where the road was taking me. It filled me with an enthusiasm I had never known before, a sparkling desire to launch myself into the simple unknown. I caught glances at the trees surrounding the field, my mind was endlessly curious to know about them. They were only trees, but they were trees I had never seen before, and I have never gotten to know them.
I kept pressing onward. As the ground gave way beneath me, something edged its way into my vision.
A river.
A thought prickled in the back of my mind; I knew of this river. But I couldn’t place the thought. I couldn’t place its name, but it didn’t matter what it was called—I wanted to go see it up close.
The field blended into a wide cluster of trees. A detail confused me: they were pine trees, not a typical oak or birch. As the trail fell into the pine forest, I could smell the dark evergreen needles and sap. Shadows fell over me, but beams of light dispersed through the branches.
The trail beneath me became more uneven as I biked along. Rocks started to jump out from the ground and I swerved to avoid them. I was definitely not known for my balance, I nearly fell more than I would like to admit. But the path didn’t strike my cheerful mood. I hummed as I biked along the steep trail, around the turns and curves, through the endless array of trees.
theseobsessedindividuals, can’trealizethetroubletheyarein caughtupinthenextbestthing, notrealizing what’shappening right in front of them, missingtheEarth,missingherbeauty nolongerhuman, justanicon, justacomment, justaprofile butwheni’minmygrave,iwonder ifi’llbetrendingornot
The cinematography, the score, the composition are all perfect in the movie. However, the cinematicperfectionisnotwhatI’mdrawnto;I’veneverreallyhadrefinedtasteforart.
ThemanfromTheRevenantshowedhisstrengththroughhisabilitytoliveoutaprimitivelife,one thatdemandedthebasicneedsoffood,water,andshelter.Buthealsohadanotherstrength,onethat couldbecraftedandhonedonlyinthemind.Hewasshroudedinresiliency,thecapacitytoabsorband spring back against conflict. I was there. I saw the struggle and the effort to keep going against the mountingdesiretostop.
Warm, familiar visions seep in. To the touch, they are as fine as silk, as smooth as velvet; their scents are rich like chai. But it is their colors that are most fascinating, the most solacing: mahogany, bright ginger, vermilion, all the way down to chartreuse, forest green, and translucent aquamarine.
Scenes unfold. A burst of maroon flowers until a Japanese maple leaf is visible, its five prongs swirling in spirals as it comes fluttering down an October breeze. The air smells of ripe Ambrosia apples and honey. Pale grass sails the wind’s waves all across the roaming hills, only makingwayforthestumblingfootofachild.
She hears the melodic voice of another. It comes from above, from one who is much taller, muchwiser,muchwarmer.
ground and stretch to the edge of the sky. Clouds rule the world. Fromwhereshestands,aminuscule field mouse in a world of whales, everything has meaning, and nothingisinsignificant.
The world was so big back then.
A large figure steps into view.Hislocksarejustlongenough to sway in sync with the wind as he spins on his heels and laughs. An even taller figure approaches him, thenanother.Theyarehappy.
Then everything vanishes anditiscold.
“Calisces?”
She looks up. Julien is only an arm’s length away from her, yet she can’t make out his frowning lips, can’t tell his iris apart from his pupil. Everything is blurry and wet, she realizes, as a tear splashes on herleg.
Her voice is but a whisper. “I missmyparents.”
Excerptfrom“HoldYourTelephoneWires” bySloaneDuys
Thewindowswungopen,carriedbyawarmgustofwind.Theleavesofnearbytreesrattledalmostas iftheywerehushingthestorm,ormaybegivingitastandingovation.Itwasstilldarkout,butthemorning sun began to peak out from the earth, casting the window in a dark golden light. Sure, maybe it was supposedtobebeautiful– designedthatwayeven,buttheforthcomingchirpofbluejaystiedtwomore knotsintothegirl'sstomach.Thestringpulledsotightthatherentirebodywasstrungtogetherbyasingle twinewithanevergrowingtensionpullinguponit.Shedidn’twanttomeetforbreakfast.Howcouldher motherpickpleasantcompany?Shedidn’tevenknowifshewasaperson,orcattlewaitingtobeauctioned off.Jeaniepulledherlinensheetsoverherheadandlistenedtothesoftpurringofherorangetabby,Mouse, whorestedontopofthecovers.
Now, I couldn’t possibly have any clue what you’d like to do with that information, as I myself haven’taclueaswell.Wearetwoblindmeninabroomcloset,likesomekindofancientSumerianjoke.The thingabouttheseshockingrevelationsisthatthereisn’treallyanythingtodowithit.Sometimesthingsare
unfortunate, and they will never become fortunate.Youcaneitheraccepttheirtruthor be delusional, which is often quite entertaining.Thebestpeoplearedelusional, becausetruthisboringandfantasyentertains us.Now,maybeyou’rewonderingwhatthe point of all this is -- the narration, the life lesson, the senseless rambling, but I don’t reallycarethatyou’rewondering.Wondering isgoodfortheego,likeservingsoffruittothe body, however many people tend to ignore those recommendations. If you don’t feed your body the nutrients it requires, you die early. If you don’t feed yourself ardent delusions, you become boring, which is worse.
