The wind used to be my enemy. Or so my perception taught me. It came with its unforgiving claws and snatched away the very ground I stood on, leaving me falling, helpless with only the air it left behind to grasp onto. It snatched my sanity. It wasn’t until I noticed one night how the …
Searing wind whistles through my tangled hair as sand slaps my face. My lips are cracked, and I can feel the crinkles in the corners of my eyes from too much squinting. I’ve been in this hot wasteland for longer than I care to admit. I look out from behind dancing strands of hair and …
Setup: The character, Jasper, finds himself in a very real-feeling vision, where he’s in a desert having to face the accusation and pain of all the people who have hurt him or whom he believes he has hurt in his life. It’s a desert of self-condemnation and loneliness; essentially, this world of lies that he’s …
“Crightooon?” Her sing-song lilt warms me inside, though a cool autumn fog gathers around my squatting form. I like it when she says my name like there is no one she’d rather play with, but it’s probably not that. My sister Chay probably sent her after me. And Mother no doubt sent Chay. Supper time …
So, here I am. Performing on one of the biggest stages in the nation. It’s a dream, a pinnacle of hopes and hard work, a streak-free reflection of what I always imagined. My chest thumps in time with the beats of the violins, my feet react at just the right second during every turn, every …
“But I don’t know where I’m going,” I say, patting the imaginary blindfold over my eyes. I swear I can almost feel the fabric there, covering my sight. “Oh, but yes you do!” he says, strands of his hair flapping in the wind. “You see the ocean before you, you hear the call of the …
Why are you running? The question sounded absurd in the midst of my flight, a whisper tossed in with the raging winds that whipped my hair around my sweat-streaked face. Fear pressed in close, perpetuated by the violent debris that I barely had time to dodge with each step. My muscles were strained and on …
The blue-green of his eyes reflect the agitated waves, which reflect the churning sky. Reflection upon reflection. An imitation of origination. See, the storm only mirrors—and that, dimly—the raging paradox of beauty and fury that composes his identity. I see it in his eyes, in the swirling colors. And when he laughs, the sound breaks …
“Where are you off to?” he asked me. I turned around at the question, adjusting my messenger back over my shoulder. I sniffed once, the air cold going in. My eyes fell to the ground, then lifted once more to his face. “Oh, you know…off to find whatever adventure might await.” Half my mouth tipped …
His eyes dance to the beat of the wind that rushes through his hair in periodic gusts, which keep time to his footsteps coming toward me. He’s like a song wrapped up in a man, making every element and created thing in his wake become more beautiful. No—not more beautiful. Rather, his presence awakens them …
