How to Paint Our Skies

How to Find Secrets

Dear Fin,

     Going in public still scares me. In fact, there is probably not anything else in the world that is more terrifying. There is no darkness, no monster, no pain that can equal up to the hurting that other human beings can give you . . . you taught me that, Fin. Because humanity, although it can bring astounding greatness, is a curse.

    I mean, look at our history. It’s splattered with blood, acts of heroism so scare they could probably be counted on one hand. People, human beings, slaughtering each other in the name of political views or religious belief; torturing each other in cruel and heart shattering ways, just to slowly let them die . . . people have always been so evil.

    But you were so intent on proving me wrong about that. You spent all our time together pointing out the good humanity has done. But can a few major good acts outweigh even one bad? Compared to each other, how can you find monsters more terrifying?

    I remember the way you used to watch me. You’re always so careful with me, Fin, but now I think it’s because you knew how broken I was. And when someone was so shattered, they must be put back together with care, as to not cause any more damage. For awhile, you’re so gentle; I was almost a complete picture and WHAM! I was me again.

    Nothing good was meant to last.

    But, back to the point, people scare me.

    Today, I was strolling down the street, briskly heading to work and . . . well, it happened again. I was tripped –accidentally, I hope- and collapsed on my chest; no one helped me up. I managed to make it onto my feet, but I was shoved over again. Tears pricked the back of my eyes and I didn’t know what to do. I was scared.

    And I sat there for a moment, just resting on my knees, but my mind swirled with images of my past. Of the people who had hurt me, of all the bullies that had ever stood in my path. But was bully just a title for regular people who were just a little too blunt . . . wasn’t everyone like that?  No one was good. No one could be good. We’re all monsters.

    But . . . today, maybe I met someone who wasn’t a monster. A little old woman, so ancient that her spine was curling in on itself and wrinkles lined her face like zebras and their stripes, knelt down before me and offered me her hand. Trembling, she pulled me up and shook the dust of my clothing. She smiled at me, her dark eyes lighting with warmth. “Are you alright?”

    “I-I . . . I’m fine. Thank you, ma’am.”

    But she was frowning at me, her eyes scanning my face. “There is something wrong, come with me.”

    My eyes widened. “Tha-thank you, ma’am, but I really need to head to work-“

    “You need to come with me,” she responded, her small hand snatching mine and pulling me forward.

    It ended up the small old woman was like a tank, chugging along and knocking all of those in front of us out of our way.  All the while she held my hand, this complete and utter stranger, and yet I couldn’t find it in myself to pull away.  Because it had been so long since anyone has touched, since my hand has been held . . . since someone has cared for me.

    She didn’t speak as we walked, but she slowly tugged me into a small apartment building. We climbed stairs, many of them; I felt as if we’re Jack from Jack and the Bean Stalk, climbing up the giant stalk in hopes of riches. But we weren’t looking for riches . . . this woman was looking to help me. In my eyes, that was better than gold.

    Her apartment was a little place with the aroma of tea hanging thickly in the air. There was small living room and built in kitchen, while the rest of the rooms hid behind doors in a tiny corridor. She pulled me into the room, letting go when I finally reached the couch.