A 3D World In A 2D Notion

• Nadine Wyatt, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2008

A bed of soft clouds has comforted my fall and embraced me in its warmth. The cotton wool has curled around me and ravels me away from the troubles of the world. My weary head is rested on a pillow of hope and the day’s thoughts are melted into the flickering lights. The lights flicker, once, twice, and mixed emotions are meshed into dreams. Colours are swirled into a palette and an artist is painting a fine picture in my mind. I squint to see a better image and slowly the world evolves.
Coloured dots show a rainbow that is separated by red stricken veins. They do not flow and there is no pot of gold beneath them, but instead they treasure my dream. Deep blues wash over me and pull me under by my toes and I find myself being sucked into reality.
Twisting and turning in my bed of despair, I turn my eyes to what hardens my heart.
Risen, are the dark stomachs of famished bellies that hollow for substance of food. They reach out with their pink fingernails to grasp whatever I might have that will fill their empty tummies. Empty bowls, hard of concrete, have been coldly touched by the world’s rash ways. Only one in thousands receives that orange card of hope, the writings of another planet. “There is life other than this, a world of better existence.” They carry their buckets to an empty home that is now complete with a family on the mantle. They look down and wish the children well for another day’s labour. They only appear on cardboard and they will never see the real. Suffering only occurs in pictures.
I cannot hear. I cannot speak. I have no voice. I am deaf from the fires of gunshots that have cracked the drums of my ears. They are a kit that plays no rhythm, no music to my ears. Metal beasts roll down the street and collect what is not theirs. They’re in search of prey and they gather their targets with the piercing screech that huddles the victims. The victims’ cries are desolate as they carry through the night. The cold tombs trap the heat of their tears and they comfort one another in a pool of warmth. They are alone, beneath a grave of conflict. They are shovelled like dirt, into a hole of helplessness where they can not be heard. The men above do not care, so long as justice is found. In seeking this, they have killed a nation.
The hustle and bustle of the busy streets chases my mind in thoughts. Robots walk the streets with their communicators to their ears. Their blank, expressionless faces only acknowledge in desire. It is a life of give and take. They walk in lines of determination as they all want the same thing. The man on the path is trampled on as he sits on his lonely stoop. He too wants the same thing and he begs for it with his knitted, empty stash. He goes unnoticed, untouched, unloved. He is only received with pitiful looks as he hopelessly arranges his bed of papers. Among them he reads the stories of today that thoughtlessly reveal the shapeless world.
“A guilty conscience of a murderous man has placed him rightfully in jail.”
“A young girl weeping is left on the street after being seen as impure filth.”
Nine months later her scar will be born and she will have to confront her wound. She has paid the price for the lusting minds around her who never see love in its true form. She heads to a shelter where fires burn vigorously to keep the sick alive as they shiver from society’s cold touch. Their curiosity will no longer lead them to what is dangerously abused. Dark pools of regret swell on the surface, but it is the deep lining that can never be healed.
This world is painful and I feel something wet slide down my cheek. I do not know this world. I am an outsider. But the lights have clicked on and I have now realised. The 2D map has jumped at me, releasing a globe into my hands. I am holding the world in the palm of my hands. For me to love. For me to grow. For me to fix.
I looked up and realised, I was looking at the entire world. My eyes were now open.