Oculus

• Samara Masterman, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2019

WARNING: THIS IS A VERY SAD STORY.

You are not sure if your eyes are closed, or you are in darkness. Listen…

The water has a strange pattern to it.
Drip… Drip, trickle, drip, drip… Drip, trickle, trickle, drip…
Your mind begs you to translate it into Morse Code, even though you think there is no hope, but you do it anyway.
‘Dit dit dit dit, dit, dit dah dit dit, dit dah dah dit. Dah dah dit.’
‘Help me.’
Finding the moist patch the water dripped onto, you walk over to it and find a neatly cut sapphire with a teardrop carved into it. Faint, empty wails seem to be coming from the water.
“Come back…You know I miss you…” sobs the echoing voice.
“Lily? No, no, I must be insane…” You softly ask, your voice raw from sadness.
“I promise, you’re not…”

A familiar figure appears before you, her skin ice blue and slightly translucent.
Lily reaches her hand down to hold yours. A cold mist passes your dry fingers as her hand silently drifts through yours. Your vision becomes distorted as a tear is produced from the inner corners of your eyes.

The crystal grows. You shed a few more tears as star-like symbols appear on the gem. The engraving slowly forms the constellation Libra. A message appears beside it: ‘Unite heart and head… Instinct knows the way.’
Reading the message, you are confused. You combine the two messages and one of your own morals: 'everyone gets a say'.

‘After tears and bloodshed, you have your say… Heart and head, you know the way.’

Closing her eyes, concentrating, a roll of paracord and a hook appear in Lily’s hands.
“How do I use those? If a spirit can’t touch a human, spirit objects can’t either,” You ask, confused.
“Everything is fluid. States of matter are not fixed,” she explains, transforming the objects into solids.
You pick them up, feeling stronger than ever, ready to take on the cave’s challenges. Becoming conscious of the sinkhole ahead, you tie the paracord to the hook and throw it over to the other side. After tying the other end of the paracord to a stalagmite on your side, you carefully step onto the rope.

Some steps. A few more. You reach the middle of your tightrope as the knot starts to fray. Realising it is coming undone, you jump off the rope, clinging to a stalactite on the cave roof. A crystal fragment protrudes from the rock. Your hand glides over it, your skin parting. The stalactite becomes slipperier, the blood coating it. The smoothness, the pain from the cut... Time slows, your eyes dry out.

Baboom
Baboom
Baboom

Every muscle in your body tenses, and your eyes force themselves shut…

Crash!
Bah
Boom
…
Bah
…
Boom
…
You look at your body, turning violet, and translucent. You have the biggest, most important realisation of your life.

‘Death is a life of its own’