Unanswered Prayers

• Nutthinee Sirising, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2017

The cloak of Nyx enveloped the sky, not a haze to be seen, only ephemeral stars to guide the lost before their light could be engulfed by the sun.
Only one remains awake amongst dreamers lost in their nightly visions.
She knelt there in the curtains of night, bath in the only available light source; the stars. It is told that you could wish upon a falling star, but only if your mind could post your wish faster than starlight as the term; “blink of an eye” could not be accurately used to describe it. But there are other ways, lucky stars made to replace those that have fallen and a 1000 cane, one for each year of its wise life, all so carefully made from paper. The orb of a dandelion, its feathers notes in the symphony of the breeze. Extinguishing the candles on a cake on the day of your birth, your desire in your mind. The cracking of the wish bone of a chicken, strange yet practiced.
All of these traditions passed down through the ages, kept alive even through wars and the effect of time. It all laid in front of her. A jar of carefully crafted paper stars, a 1000 paper canes each immaculately folded, a small boutique of dandelion resembling clouds on stems, candles, its wicks burnt and wax melted and a dry bone in the shape of a warped v.
“I wish for not much but nor is it a little wish,” she whispers, her voice nothing more than a breath expelled through the lips.
Her fingers were frozen but she nonetheless reached into her pocket, retrieving a matchbox from its depth. The aroma of chemical follows a single strike creating light, cradled and shielded by youthful hands. Ever so slowly, one by one, more appeared confined in a pool of wax. The gentle radiances illuminating the harsh stone and grass covered mound and warming her heart. She lovingly brushed away a wandering ascending vine as if she was caressing the cheek of a lover, a stray tear catching at the corner of her eye until more accumulated to form the night sky on her lashes. “My wish like my last is only for your presence,” she prays. “I yearn for only a moment, not a day nor a night, just a moment to farewell thee.”
And there she waited, on the mound of grass in front of a craved stone with the pieces of what she hoped to grant her deepest desire in front of her until the sun raised its wary head, casting warmth and rays but sealing the death of the stars. Her limbs felt as if replaced by lead as she stood, head bowed as she is again disappointed for another year. Yet she doesn’t lose hope for if her love could endure this long then so could her hope. And with light in her eyes, a smile and the brush of fingertips against the gravestone, she walks away.