“Working overnight is such a pain…”
Once more, she found herself gazing up at the ceiling, her back against the firm mattress, headphones tucked securely in her ears. Early mornings such as this were no longer uncommon. Suddenly swapping to the graveyard shift did a number on her sleeping habits. Even shutting her eyes for a moment wouldn’t sway her into slumber. If the sun was rising, she would greet it with a grimace.
Seven a.m. struck, the cheerful fanfare of her cell phone chiming some inches away; she extended her hand to the left, brushing her finger along the screen, ceasing the sound. So, an hour had gone by, and the sun would be rising soon enough. Everything was normal once more.
She tilted her head back to stare at the closed window, a streak of crimson crossing her gaze. She didn’t hesitate to rise to a sit, leaning over the windowsill.
The lights hit her in an awesome wave. An unearthly blend of colors flared over the horizon. Her eyes were filled with wonderment–she was a child again, looking at the tinsel of Christmas morning, the sight more than she could fathom. Tears welled up as a Cheshire grin crept across her face.
She was entranced. She felt… drawn. With what little control still held over herself, she found herself up and in the living room. It was mid-December, and the snow flurries had been reluctant to start up for the season; she would be able to suffice with two of her jackets. Her gaze hovered over her gym-shoes, leaned up against the railing of the stairs below. The grass would likely be wet from the previous showers. The sun was already rising. If she hesitated too long, she would miss her chance. Reluctant in her actions, she slipped on her sandals instead, figuring that the wet ground wouldn’t be an issue. She grabbed her keys from the counter, and exited the apartment, locking the door behind her.
Her steps were well-paced as she rounded a corner. The streets had been quiet for the time being, devoid of any people. Then again, what was to be expected at seven in the morning? She kept her steps going, even though it felt as if she continued through a void. Sounds began to dampen the more she approached the sight–it was as if the lights in the sky cordoned her off into another dimension.
Finally, there was a sound and she snapped her head towards the source–men, burly, rough, and hairy were departing from the direction of the lights. Each looked as if they could freeze their friends with a glare at twenty paces but at that moment, disappointment and the sense of unfulfilled desire wreaked havoc throughout their minds. They walked in the opposite direction, slouched, sulking and defeated.
She saw more places that looked as if they were filled to the brim with people; she was right, but they looked to be engulfed in shadow. She couldn’t believe her eyes; a few snaps caught the people on film, and each person’s face was eschewed in horror. Her breath grew shallow. Was she capturing these people’s souls inadvertently?
She wasn’t in real time, she figured that much out on her own. Things didn’t work the same way here. She scrolled back to the picture in the camera’s memory card and deleted it, gasping softly as the sound of ethereal wails rang out in the distance.
Behind her, the sky lit ablaze and an unseen force knocked her on her backside. The cold of the field offered no respite as heat licked at her face with invisible tongues. She shielded her eyes at first, but gradually she looked at what was before her. The sight was truly a blaze of glory; the sky’s shade was a plume of fire from the sun, and its magnificence forced the clouds away, a trumpet’s blow to herald its arrival.
She was engrossed in the sight. The colors of the wind and the sky blended together smoothly.
“I know you… you are worthy?” A voice assaulted her, shaking her body to its core.
She could only bring herself to her knees. She kowtowed before the light and clouds, feeling a presence she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Meekly, she responded, “Worthy?”
“Compassion, talent, honor…You have things that many others your age squander. You feel yourself shackled, bogged down by the perceived hardships of life.”
She looked up, trying to make sense of the lights. A brighter light appeared before her, glowing and warbling before it assumed human form. Dissipating, the voice was now human and less abrasive to the ears. She looked up and her eyes widened. A human stood before her, ivory complexion and clad in peerless white clothing. The man smiled and extended his hand to help her up.
“You have a grander destiny than this; your potential is wasted trying to live by this society’s standards. You have a skill that you take great pride in, right?”
Her words lumped up in her throat. She couldn’t respond but only nod. The man took ahold of her hand and scanned it with a focused eye.
“Narrow fingers, strong muscles and phalanges. Faint traces of ink and lead on your skin.” He looked her in the face, her expression one of puzzlement and shyness. “A keen eye for detail. You are a writer.”
She nodded once more. She felt him touch her chin to bring her gaze to meet his.
“Let me hear you say it.”
“I…am a writer.”
The man smiled. “Tell me again. You’re not convinced.”
“I’m a writer.”
“Convince me.”
She huffed and found her inner strength. She looked the man square in the eye. “I’m a writer, and damn proud of it!”
“Bravo. It’s been so long since I’ve met a potential with the confidence to declare what they truly are. You know what makes a writer profound in creation?”
The girl, curious, shook her head.
“Writers tell stories. Those who live in creation need stories more than they need bread and water. Stories tell us about our pasts and present in order to prepare us for our future. Stories tells us about who we truly are at our cores, to show us a way to improve ourselves. Stories can save us.”
Things made so much more sense. Each story had a purpose, a theme. Stories were meant to teach lessons and help listeners make their minds up about something they were previously ignorant about.
“Come on. We’ve a lot to cover.”
“But wait! Who are you?” she inquired.
“I am but a teacher, and now, you are my student.”
Becoming Writer 2016 Anniversary Contest 