Amara Bray

Finalist in the 'Summer Holidays Writing Competition' competition

Amara Bray’s sandy hair was tied in two pigtails, a loose sock slipping down one foot and an unclipped pinafore hanging from her shoulder. Amara’s footstep was a slight patter against each floor boarded step.
“Momma?” she called from half way down. Her mother Genevieve Bray was not like Amara at all, black stringy, wiry hair and a smile which did not illuminate as Amara’s did. “Yes Mara?”
“Momma I think I got bitten.” Little Amara Bray, having never felt the sensation of Hurt before had a little dimpled smile sprawled on her rose lips. Her mother, faintly relieved at the circumstance, turned from the stove and knelt to Amara’s extended arm.
“Momma, but it doesn’t hurt.” Mrs Bray sighed such a melancholy breath, as she would every other misjudgement made for her daughter’s Hurt. Her daughter was surely invincible.
Amara Bray had eyes that were so deep brown that they were just about the shade of black. She was now ponytails and white silk tops.
“You’re Invincible?” asked Louis from her college writing class. He had this charm about him that was absolutely beautiful to her.
“Yeah.” she whispered. “Please don’t.”
“That’s amazing.”
“It’s not.” she shook her head, relieved yet absolutely bewildered at his disparate response.
“Does that mean you’ll never die?”
Tears began to flood. Tears which were once crystal but now as heavy as stone.
“Oh no, I’m sorry.” said Louis. He very awkwardly placed his arm around her. “You are too good for this world.” he whispered and kissed her very gently on the cheek. “You’re the only true thing in our false world and that’s why God wants you to live forever” Amara glanced up now, her eyes foggy with tears.
“I don’t want to live forever” she croaked, shaking her little head. “If it means I have to live without pain. How will I live with prosperity if I never know what the contrary is?” His kiss was painless, his kiss was without beauty for she never truly knew what either was.
Days for Amara Bray had become somewhat best described as wearisome at its finest. Still no bites, still no hurt and still no distinction between light and dark; beauty and ugliness or strength and weakness.
“Momma.” she whispered. Her mother glanced down briefly at her invulnerable daughter. “Yes Mara?”
“I’m not scared.”
Her mother’s eyes had saddened to such a state of inevitable gloom then. Child birth was to give such beautiful pain. To Amara Bray it was not this defining moment as it should be. To Amara Bray, it was only a small matter of insignificance that would eventually join her spiral of forgotten memories. For what is memory without light and dark? How can one define light without the perspective of dark? Amara Bray was nothing but grey.
“I pray for her to be breakable, for that is what will make her indomitable.” She whispered as she placed a kiss on small Felice’s forehead.

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