She could always hear them.
Untouchable voices, all asking for something.
Sometimes it was a wish for a better grade in class. Sometimes it was a wish for money.
Sometimes it was a huge wish û a wish for someoneÆs illness to be cured, a wish for a loved one to come back after death. Sometimes it was a small wish û a wish for forgiveness, a wish for an end for loneliness.
She wished that the voices would shut up.
She didnÆt care about their hopes, she didnÆt care about their dreams.
She. Did not. Care. So why did those voices continue to bother her?
It hurt to listen.
She reached for the nightstand, grabbed her old, rusty coin, placed it close to her chest.
Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on the coin.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the voices died off.
And, eventually, she started her day.
---------------------------
Every once in a while, she could see them.
Rainbow colored leaves no one else noticed, a pure white pair of wings falling down to earth.
If she got too near, those leaves would move closer, the pair of wings would glide to her.
And sheÆd see someoneÆs wish.
The leaves brought images of an artist, hungering for inspiration. The wings made her think of a girl, hoping that her beloved would soon arrive.
She liked seeing more then hearing.
There was a difference between listening to an annoying disembodied voice and watching a child cry. One would just piss her off. The other made her care.
So she would chase after those wishes, old, rusty coin in hand.
Because those dreams would wither away if she wasnÆt fast enough.
Rainbow colored leaves would suddenly dry up, crumble into dust. A pure white pair of wings would slowly turn black, drawing a swaying arc as they reached ever closer to the ground.
So, every day, she would spend her free time searching high and low, refusing to stop until she had seen at least one wish.
Becauseàbecauseà
Because when she was done, those leaves would regain all of their vigor; they would slowly, surely, fly into the sky û they would flutter, dance, leave trails of vibrant color in their wake, paint a brilliant, wonderful picture in the air.
Because if she touched it, that pair of wings would shed its dirty feathers, plummet to the ground û and become flowers; a small, beautiful circle of green and red, white and gold.
And, like right now û a floating spark of light, growing dimmer with every second.
She reached out to it, grasped at it û saw, for an instant, a boy blowing out birthday candles û and the light grew brighter, fractured, summoned a rainbow.
She paused, took her old, rusty coin out of her pocket, placed it close to her chest.
Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on the coin.
And with her job done, she continued her day.
---------------------------
Rarely, she felt them.
They would always occur at the end of the day.
Flashes, echoes of pure, unadulterated joy,a trickling of happiness that could still wash away the frustrations of her day.
And it happened again today.
With practiced ease, she took the coin from her pocket, stared at it.
Right now - like this, it wasnÆt old, it wasnÆt rusty.
It was shining, brand new. It was warm to the touch.
She focused on it. Breathe in, breathe out, focus on the coin, remember it.
And, as usual, the coin lost its luster, lost its warmth far too quickly, turned back into something old, rusty, dull in what felt like a blink of an eye.
But her mind was refreshed. Old sensations, nearly forgotten emotions û they were revived with the granting of her wish.
She clutched the coin in her hand, felt her nails dig into her palm.
Feeling it brighten again was wonderful.
Feeling its loss was frustrating.
àBut itÆll brighten again, right? Today wasnÆt the first time, and it wonÆt be the last.
So she held it close to her chest, basked in lost warmth, reminisced in an unreachable age.
And, feeling happier, safer, she ended her day.
Untouchable voices, all asking for something.
Sometimes it was a wish for a better grade in class. Sometimes it was a wish for money.
Sometimes it was a huge wish û a wish for someoneÆs illness to be cured, a wish for a loved one to come back after death. Sometimes it was a small wish û a wish for forgiveness, a wish for an end for loneliness.
She wished that the voices would shut up.
She didnÆt care about their hopes, she didnÆt care about their dreams.
She. Did not. Care. So why did those voices continue to bother her?
It hurt to listen.
She reached for the nightstand, grabbed her old, rusty coin, placed it close to her chest.
Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on the coin.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the voices died off.
And, eventually, she started her day.
---------------------------
Every once in a while, she could see them.
Rainbow colored leaves no one else noticed, a pure white pair of wings falling down to earth.
If she got too near, those leaves would move closer, the pair of wings would glide to her.
And sheÆd see someoneÆs wish.
The leaves brought images of an artist, hungering for inspiration. The wings made her think of a girl, hoping that her beloved would soon arrive.
She liked seeing more then hearing.
There was a difference between listening to an annoying disembodied voice and watching a child cry. One would just piss her off. The other made her care.
So she would chase after those wishes, old, rusty coin in hand.
Because those dreams would wither away if she wasnÆt fast enough.
Rainbow colored leaves would suddenly dry up, crumble into dust. A pure white pair of wings would slowly turn black, drawing a swaying arc as they reached ever closer to the ground.
So, every day, she would spend her free time searching high and low, refusing to stop until she had seen at least one wish.
Becauseàbecauseà
Because when she was done, those leaves would regain all of their vigor; they would slowly, surely, fly into the sky û they would flutter, dance, leave trails of vibrant color in their wake, paint a brilliant, wonderful picture in the air.
Because if she touched it, that pair of wings would shed its dirty feathers, plummet to the ground û and become flowers; a small, beautiful circle of green and red, white and gold.
And, like right now û a floating spark of light, growing dimmer with every second.
She reached out to it, grasped at it û saw, for an instant, a boy blowing out birthday candles û and the light grew brighter, fractured, summoned a rainbow.
She paused, took her old, rusty coin out of her pocket, placed it close to her chest.
Breathe in, breathe out. Focus on the coin.
And with her job done, she continued her day.
---------------------------
Rarely, she felt them.
They would always occur at the end of the day.
Flashes, echoes of pure, unadulterated joy,a trickling of happiness that could still wash away the frustrations of her day.
And it happened again today.
With practiced ease, she took the coin from her pocket, stared at it.
Right now - like this, it wasnÆt old, it wasnÆt rusty.
It was shining, brand new. It was warm to the touch.
She focused on it. Breathe in, breathe out, focus on the coin, remember it.
And, as usual, the coin lost its luster, lost its warmth far too quickly, turned back into something old, rusty, dull in what felt like a blink of an eye.
But her mind was refreshed. Old sensations, nearly forgotten emotions û they were revived with the granting of her wish.
She clutched the coin in her hand, felt her nails dig into her palm.
Feeling it brighten again was wonderful.
Feeling its loss was frustrating.
àBut itÆll brighten again, right? Today wasnÆt the first time, and it wonÆt be the last.
So she held it close to her chest, basked in lost warmth, reminisced in an unreachable age.
And, feeling happier, safer, she ended her day.
