A Light in the Dark

I once knew a girl who spoke often of being lost in the wilderness of the world. She fought to find her way through the vast shrubbery and thick vines that impeded her trek. She would be wrapped within the grasps of those vines, clawing to be free from its grip. Unfortunately, once free, the world was still as dark and treacherous as the grasp of the vine.

Still searching for her way through the thick wilderness, she finds herself viewing a ray of sunlight peeking out ahead, through the leaves above that hinder the fullness of the suns warmth. She wonders if she will ever reach that ray in the distance; if that seeming hand of god will encompass her soul once and for all. Or will she stride in circles, never reaching that end?

She traded an existence full of misery and self-deprecation, of little form and substance, a life of gliding and living day by day just trying to survive for a life of wonder and excitement; one that fulfills goals and satisfies an inquisitive spirit. One that seeks enjoyment of everyday things that was once missed by a foggy mind viewing a woeful world. People existed in her life from a comfortable distance, only seeking her company when they themselves wanted to escape the realities of the world. Never seeking her company to enjoy the wonderment’s of life, only its debaucheries. She no longer exists for those people, simultaneously non-existent as a whole. She wonders why her existence was valued solely on superficial values and why she no longer exists beyond that. It’s a double-edged sword, she cries, to rise from the ashes of wretchedness, like the phoenix reborn, only to find herself even more invisible and insignificant despite everything wonderful and positive that she, alone, is experiencing. When she reaches out, no one responds. When she speaks, barely a sentence is finished. When she expresses a thought, it is quickly minimized and crushed. She screams as loud as she can in this thick wilderness, but not a rustle can be heard in its response. It’s as if she simply does not exist, and any crumb left to note that her foot once touch this ground is swept aside for the larger foot trampling the brush.

Her soul was crushed time and time again, yet she continued to reach for that ray peeking in the distance. She ran full force, with legs often giving out beneath her, but even then she would claw the ground as she crawled…knowing she would soon regain strength. It was so close, yet so far, and with all doubt buried deep within, she knew that her will would prevail. She would soon grab that ray and pull herself up.


Published by: stellasyr

"The writer must create out of her real self a separate narrative persona. The narrator has wisdom and distance the writer may not, and can craft a meaningful story out of the raw details of life"

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