Featured in Hometown Rankin Magazine
August 2018
My mind is a garden.
Every day it is watered and grown
It thrives with color and foreign lands
And galaxies unknown.
With every new book and story, a new flower grows,
Painted with dreams of beasts and myths and drifting white does.
A quiet mind mine is, filled with roses and trees
Watered with fantasy tales and stories.
I am a reader and a writer, with imagination of different shades
Of colors and thoughts, a garden of light that never fades.
Long lances of sunrise shone across the lush morning hours, shattering the deep quietness of the circus as people rushed through the entry gate, taking in the striped velvet tents and letting the popcorn drizzled with warm caramel sweeten their sleepy senses.
Elephants dressed in dazzling beads and vibrant colored fabric draped across their backs walked across the circus' sandy floors, and the guests shouted in delight, scrambling to see all the shows the circus offered.
You could peek into any horizontal striped tent and catch sights of acrobats, spinning like feathers through the air in intricate body movements or see a great lion with a mane the color of sweet honey lazily stretch his large paws.
A man with a shiny black top hat wrapped with vermillion ribbons lifted my hand with his silk gloved hands and gently brushed his lips to the top of my palm, his eyes bright and full of wonder.
"Welcome to Le Cirque du Matin."
Dawn broke along the horizon, showering the wheat field in orange and blushing pink rays as a content feeling blanketed the atmosphere like a sheet. All the critters that scouted the area ran to their earthen burrows to rest and feed. Trees of all shades of colors were thick-set with fall leaves.
It was beautiful.
The sun warmed my face and I ran through the long stalks of wheat that tickled my palms, light as a feather.
I paused, enjoying the last ribbon of light that laced the sky until velvet darkness plunged the land.
The light was fading unnaturally fast, and I thought "It must be a dream" before shadows enclosed the sky above, barring in any light like a grand black cloak.
The dark wisps of darkness stabbed into the fields like towering daggers, wilting the wheat into pitiful ashes along my skin, spreading like fog until every last light was obscured and I stood there, shivering from the sudden cold.
My conscience urged me to run, to escape the darkness that choked my lungs; but my body was mobilized because something rang in my ears.
My name.
A melody of male voices, seductive and clear, overlapped each other into one solemn note.
"Sofía."
I let my feet guide me to the voice, stumbling over the lush darkness. I stopped at a thorn bush that was stripped of its vermillion roses.
Yet the heavy scent remained, a sweet perfume that suffused the air. The thorns among them seemed to curl in a delicate pattern, twisting and turning, interlacing each other into a seemingly beautiful yet deadly sight.
At that moment a butterfly with large, azurite wings dotted with bits of ash gray glided delicately beside my head and into the thorn bush.
Frowning, I pushed closer to the bush, wishing I could save the innocent creature from the fate of snagging its wings and falling to its death.
But I knew better to steal away into the heart of the thorns to capture something that was too tiny to even matter.
But somehow, anyway I ducked my head and reached my hand carefully into the thorn bush.
It worked at first.
The thorns seemed to curl around me welcoming me, but also protecting me like a shield.
"Vuelve a la luz, pequeña mariposa," I called lightly to the bright butterfly.
It turned to me, seeming to want to fly towards me, but instead, the beautiful blue butterfly faded, like mist, into the thorns.
I gasped as the thorns sprang around me, snagging my arm, pulling open flesh in multiple places, digging deeper into my skin as the seconds passed.
I swallowed a scream and struggled to get my arm free, away from the thorns. But the struggle only caused more flesh to be torn.
I felt the blood cascading around my arm, and I finally found my voice.
I screamed once, and then darkness blotted my vision, and I fell.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*This short story symbolizes the appeal of becoming a superstar or becoming famous in the music industry (the call of male voices.) The thorns of fame seem at first like it will welcome the artist, but soon one will discover how lonely stardom can be. The light (butterfly) that the artist wished to pursue will soon be diminished by darkness.
"People say, there’s splendor in that bright light
But my growing shadow swallows me
And becomes a monster." - BTS (방탄소년단) – Interlude: Shadow