i ask myself,
what am i
doing
h e r e ?
t w o
In my mind, conversation exists in italics and yelling exists in CAPITAL LETTERS and whispers exist with s p a c e s b e t w e e n t h e m.
In my mind, words rule supreme.
You are an artist, Aaron tells me.
The party is stifling, and I long for the sharp cold of the night air against my throat, for the green glimmers of hope on the stone floor.
No. I am no artist, he is. I am a scientist.
You are a creator, he says. A creator of stories, of people. You have universes inside your mind, begging to be spelled out on paper.
But when he talks like that, when he talks in pictures, I don't know what to say. The very words I treasure leave me bereft.
It is true. I have people within me, begging to be heard. Sometimes, i'm afraid if I open my mouth I might stop being Soraya and start being the g h o s t s of these p e o p l e i n s i d e m e.
That's why I write. Nobody can hear me if I write the voices.
Only Aaron.
BUT ART WILL NOT GET YOU ANYWHERE, said Mama.
And I don't know if she's right or wrong but honestly I don't really care because I don't live and breathe art the way Aaron does, I live and breathe confusion.
Maybe I am both.
He pauses. Considers. Lifts his emerald eyes to mine, clutches onto my eyes like his existence depends on it. He drowns in his dreams sometimes. I anchor him, even though i'm a firm believer in being your own anchor. Perhaps love does that.
What a wonderful notion, he says. To be both. You are wonderful.
F o r e n s i c s c i e n c e and w r i t i n g.
I am in love with science and art.
Whose idea was it to separate the two? To create a divide between science and art, as if they had the right to put a line between two fields so intricately interwoven that to divide them would be to divide the minds of so many people?
One cannot exist without the other, for beauty and horror exist in both.
Of course, he says. Why didn't I ever think of that?
YOU ARE READING
green light
Short StoryOn depression, and recovery. ❝Perhaps this is our kingdom, perhaps our crowns are the green specks of light that fall into our hair. And perhaps this is our fantasy, and perhaps we have no crowns but collars, collars that bind us to our differences...
