Invisible.

Alex Bushnell

1917, April 24th, England, a colorless girl was born.

A girl born in the dark of the night, colorless in every way, invisible to all. Crying heard from thin air, no source to point to. A midwife reaching towards the sound, feeling soft skin. Picking up this unknown, quickly bundling the source crying quieted, though murmurs didn’t.

The child wouldn’t hear the words said about her, nor see the looks she received, already sleeping peacefully as she was placed into a bassinet.

It came years later that she would notice confused glances, the shocked expression from the townspeople yelling ghost or demon, only hushed by the guard around her.

Children her age avoiding the seemingly floating dress that coated her figure, allowing her to be at least by her parents, though invisibility carried in more than just reality.

Ignored through her years, siblings seen as she was left behind. Her older brother taught every lesson in order to take the head of family, her younger brother slowly taught the same. Bitterness festered as her sisters were taught beauty and grace, as she was told it wouldn’t matter.

‘You cannot be seen Ruth; it does not matter.’

‘No one would notice either way.’

‘They learn this to take a husband, you cannot.’

‘You will find nothing with these lessons.’

Tears crept over her face every night, left alone in the silence of her room as her family left for balls and festivals. Told shewould scare the crowd; shewould hurt the family. But shedidn’t know what she had done wrong to deserve this. What had shedone other than be born to them.

Of course, she was greeted with skepticism when voicing these concerns, her younger self’s face stained with tears no would see, begging a woman, a woman who she should call her mother, why she had been so unwanted. The same woman who would lift her into her arms by the shape of the dress on a clear figure and tell her that her next life would be better if she was good in this one.

She had sworn at that moment to never talk of this again, being told that she had been cursed this way for something done in a past life had banished her to silence of her own accord.

Only letting herself feel when she truly felt she was alone.

Excerpts, By Marissa Struhar

1.

The skin of the earth is crumbling as the breath of cold air begins to suffocate my limbs. The sky and clouds hum with every forceful blow through my hair, now scattered across the plains. The cold air nips at my skin. My fellows cry out for warmth and shelter as they shiver and tremble through the winds of winter. My friends are dying, leaving, and hiding from nature’s forces. They wallow and cry for their mothers, but all that is left is a lifeless shell. I am alone. I am afraid of what is to come. I know that in the end, things will turn out fine, and that everything I once had will come back to me. But now, I stand here, buried, and connected with the soil. I can feel my thoughts slipping. The emptiness is about to come. I am scared of the silence. I’m scared of being alone, but it’s to late. Winter has begun…

2.

Laying on the cold, rough ground as the rocks and pebbles of the earth impaled my back. A tall, dark figure began to emerge from the darkness, briefly illuminated by the lightning that hocked the dark sky. The figure slowly started to ascend, and the chill wind that nipped at my ear was replaced by the haunting whispers of the shadow that stalked me.

3.

The birds called her with their haunting songs that echoed through only her skull. The crows possessed her being as she trenched through the deceased meadows, unaware of her own being. Her father cried for his beloved daughter, hoping that she would come back to her papa. But the possession of their songs in her innocent mind left her empty, and her father alone.

Invisible I am, a transparent sight, Unseen by those around me, day or night, I move through thick crowds with ease and grace, While many haven’t seen my face. As time passes, I yearn for exposure. My gift is only a burden worsening my personality colder.

I remain in a stagnant state of isolation. Perhaps my existence is a trifling hallucination. Every day is a mental struggle to survive, To fight the malicious thoughts that tear through my mind.

I hope to forever close my concealed gaze And depart this world for the rest of my days.