Of The Dancing And The Dreaming

• Yasmine Wright Gittins, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2017

Darkness envelopes my mind like a storm of insurgents, pervaded only by the scratch of the ballpoint pen. It is the only thing grounding me in reality. Keeping my omnipresent storms at bay. I set it down, gazing at this vessel of secrets and sorrows. I cannot bear it…sinking slowly, my fists clenched, I rest my forehead upon the coldness of the wooden desk. Flickers of light ignite dust motes that dance obliviously, to a perceived rhythm, and my breathing quickens.
Do you remember, my love? When we danced without care like that…in the rain while rivulets of water cascaded through our hair and spotted our eyelashes? But the details didn’t matter then, all I cared for was there, in my embrace, and foolishly I thought myself your protector. Do you remember how we would sit for hours, in our own little world, you decorating time with notes of pure gold, and I emblazing paper with a unique formula of 26 letters? Perhaps humans are foolish to see beauty in the seemingly ordered chaos of eternity, but I remember your eyes flinted with a flicker of something…something so profoundly enthralling as you gazed into that infinite sky. You saw something in those clustered pinpricks of light that my mind cannot bear to fathom. And if the creature in my heart at that moment had been released from it cage, it would decimate the world in a fit of passion, leaving only you…only you; standing on a pillar of Earth, the string connecting us to reality. And all around would be a black so dark, spots of colour would blossom in your eyes, and in that silence, that stillness we would find a timeless peace.
“Mummy?” A hand tugging, reaching, searching. “Mummy, why are your eyes so empty?” Nothing can disturb my silence though, even the pixie like voice of a precious gift.
“Come Claire,” a withered voice soothes, “leave Mummy alone for now.”
“But I want to go see Daddy!” she says preluding an indignant stomp of her feet.
“Shhhhh,” she hushes, leading her out of the room.
I breathe deeply, inhaling the wooden scent until a warmth suddenly envelopes me. “Do you want to come?”
We arrive at the cemetery and wander to his special knoll. They stole his dream. A cracking whip of air assaults my throat as I kneel and trace his name. Claire reaches out hesitantly to stroke my arm a tear trickling down her cherubic cheek, “What does it say?” she says. I gaze at her wordlessly and for the first time, I take her into my arms. Her wracking sobs make her frail body shudder violently but I hold her tightly and pray that I can fit the pieces back together. I was never really good at puzzles. But maybe together…
I open my mouth…and hoarsely whisper. She sits in rapt silence and marvels, wide-eyed at my words.
“Let me tell you a story. About a special person with an amazing dream, to soar among the stars…”