The Shorts

Alter Ego

I stare down into the fountain, trying to count the number of pennies, nickels, and dimes. But instead, I catch the reflection of a stranger staring into the water with me. It startles me so I quickly look up and scan my surroundings. No one. No one but me is there. All there is in the garden are the flowers and birds, quietly whispering in the breeze. I carefully look back into the water, afraid. But, the water is forming ripples which constrict from seeing a proper image. I look back around me just to stare at an empty garden. I was lucky to get the garden all to myself today. Usually there would be people coming quietly to throw coins into the fountain and wish for what they wanted. But today, it was just me, sitting alone. Well, except for the stranger I saw in the water. Suddenly, I jumped. A delusional thought occurred to me: What if the person was in the water? Slowly, I gathered my thoughts and looked back in the water. I saw her again. She was the exact opposite of me. I had black hair, she had blond hair. I had brown eyes, and she had green eyes. I was wearing a red dress. She was wearing white. I was smiling, she was frowning. Except, something scary was happening. I blinked, she blinked. I touched the water, she touched the air. I left, and she was gone too.

The moon shone her light, brilliant and serene through the night, through the windows and under the doors of homes across the world. But one girl caught her eye. When the first slits of moonlight made their way through her window, the girl would sit down at her piano, a beautiful grand, the moonlight glinting off the ivory keys. And she would play. And she would play, and she would play. And the moon watched her, every night. The way the girl’s eyes would close and the corner of her mouth would curl in a smile when playing a familiar tune. The way her brows furrowed with the octaves in her left hand. The graceful arch of her hand performing sweeping glissando. And when she was done, she would sit at the window, gazing up at the moon, looking so intently the moon though the girl could see her true form. The girl’s eyes swept across the heavens, always finding their way back to her, back to the moon. She would fall asleep at the windowsill. And it would happen again the next night. The moon couldn’t help thinking that the girl was performing for her.

Color-Blind

Grey stone walls blockade the room. Coarse cement floors tease me as I walk in. The room is dark, except for the one small window right under the ceiling. It lets in a single ray of light, sparse, but enough to make the main attraction gleam. It feels like this room hasn’t felt the touch of sound in centuries, acting as a dormant, single-man theater. Only one object stands in the center of the room, but it fills the space with a precious aura. I sit down at the grand piano, opening the lid as I brush off the dust to reveal a reflective surface. It feels like staring into a pensive of black ink.

I stare at the keys. White, black, white, white, black black, and so on. I look up at the room. Grey. I look at the ray of light. White. I look back at the piano. Black. I see no color, but one note can change it all.

How is it that a piano is only black and white, yet one sound, a single resonant key, holds more color than a blush pink rose or a sky on a sunny day?

A single key is a color.

A simple melody is a palette.

A song gives you the power to color the world.

It feels like hours until I finally collect my thoughts and bring myself back to reality. A colorless, empty reality. But I can change it.

I press a key, Middle C, and suddenly I see green fading in again. I press D, and now I see yellow. I press A, and now I see blue. I strike F sharp and blue and green merge to paint the color of the sea. Slowly, one by one, as I play each key, I see more, feel more, and know more. I feel the power surging out through my fingertips: a colorful swirl of emotions and connotations.

There are people in the world who can’t see color, yet that doesn’t make them experience anything less. That’s because there are other people who can’t feel anything and people who don’t live in the realm of emotions. Those who stay away from the reality of everything good and bad, happy and sad, light and dark. People stay away from all the sentimental dichotomies that define the world. Those are the people who are actually color blind.

Mint

I wake up with the sheer cloak of chilliness in the air. I study all the crevices in my ceiling before getting up to let sunlight seep through, only to find a grey blanket covering the sky. I watch as small raindrops tap against my window as I pull open the silk drapes. As I walk across my room, I feel every texture against my feet: the grey carpet, the twine rug, and the cold marble flooring. Everything feels chilled, stony, but like a breath of fresh air.

Chestnut

As I walk down the curving staircase, the scent of cinnamon and pecans fill my nose. I feel my body sigh in comfort as I make my way to the kitchen and smile at my mother. As I sit on the wooden chair next to wrought iron accessories, I see my cat curl up at my feet. I look at the stack of cushioned pancakes on my plate and start to drizzle a golden syrup. All my icy thoughts melt away as I sink into my content.

Daffodil

I open my umbrella as I step out the door, inhaling the scent of the sweet rain. I perch the umbrella on my shoulder and walk down the alley cloaked with willow trees. As I pass houses and gardens, I see arrays of sunrise colored flowers, showing their modest glows in the midst of the dew and fog. I pick one and carry it all the way to my bus stop.

Flint

I arrive at school, feeling the quiet morning bustle of the students making their ways to the door. Quiet chatters are dispersed in the crowd like a dust of drowsiness was sprinkled upon the crowd. As I make my way to the entrance, a long awaited fatigue encompasses my conscience, reflecting my late nights of studying. I walk into a haze of time clouding my mind with thoughts until I leave the same way I entered.

Lavender

I walk into the flower shop, the natural fragrances putting me under a pleasant spell. The owner of the boutique smiles at me as I take a stroll through the indoor garden, stopping to admire the magic in every petal. I imagine myself exploring a fairy garden with pixie dust lighting the paths. It takes the tingle of the front door for me to return to my reality. I regain my thoughts and remember my purpose for coming here. I look around and spot a bouquet of fuchsia flowers wrapped in a clear green sheet. I pick it out and bring it to the front, living in my own thoughts.

Auburn

I walk into the orchestra hall, the sound of beautiful strings echoing through the air. I meet my conductor and hand her the flowers. She smiles radiantly as I walk away to my seat. Underneath the black curved seat, I find a case and open it to reveal my violin. I watch as the audience’s hustle quiets into a murmur before reaching silence. I look around at the others cladded in black like myself, holding vibrant instruments that light up the entire stage. The lady at the podium raises the silver gleaming baton elegantly, starting the music through her fingertips. The flow of beautiful music fills the hall, filling the bubble with both energy and elegance.

Amber

Beaming, I entered a tidy restaurant with my friends. We filed into a booth with light brown leather seats next to a window which looked out into the road, lit with street lamps in the midst of the dark evening sky. The small fire lamp at the table contrasted the royal blue sky. We wait, talking about the performance as a waiter takes our order. I enjoyed the rest of the night with gourmet pizza, friends, and sheer delight.

Indigo

I arrive at my room and sink into my bed, the lights still turned off. I look down at the street from my window to see streetlights casting rays on the dark surface. I look up at the clear sky, different from the one I saw this morning. I look in the mirror as I reflect on the day that ran past my fingertips. I look back at the sky and see.

I walk across the barren land of what used to be my earth. How long had I been walking? The parched dirt getting kicked up by my shoes, sticking to my skin and my sweat. A crunch breaks the silence. Another bone hidden by rotting leaves. It’s quiet, an overwhelming quiet that seeps into your pores and closes your throat. The quiet that tells you that you are truly, utterly, alone. But my legs continue on. What else can I do? I need to find… something. If I just keep going, eventually I’ll have to find something more than the remnants of humanity.

I don’t remember much from before. What was before? I don’t remember who I was. I don’t even remember my name. But I remember that I had someone, or multiple someones. I know I wasn’t alone. I remember the warmth of another’s hand in mine, the sweet gravel of a tired voice, the sound of someone else’s life running alongside mine. I remember waking up in a cold bed too big for my one weak body, completely alone, the silence pressing on my chest.

The quiet is the worst part. The only sounds are the occasional rain and the winds. And the sounds from under my shoes. I remember the sounds of my world before. I know there was noise, always noise. A violin’s sweeping notes rise above the roar of the subway, catching my ear. A cat purrs as it rubs against my leg. TV gunfire pops through the paper thin apartment walls. An engine roars down the street. Someone curses as they spill their coffee. People living loudly. But now it’s just me, and I can make only so much noise.

The skeletons of long dead trees cast shadows on the ground from a relentless sun hidden behind clouds. A bead of sweat rolls down my cheek, another down my back. I look up at the angry clouds gathering quickly ahead of me. Relief. Relief from the pressing heat and the aching burning. I remember the feeling of rain on my skin from Before. Laughing with someone, soaking pant cuffs from barefooted puddle splashing, arms thrown open wide as we spun in the street. I hear the shhhhhhhhhhh of steady rainfall ahead of me. My chest lifts as I quicken my step. I lick my lips as I draw closer to the clouds, almost running now. I lift my arms above my head and close my eyes and I embrace the rain. Its warmth hits my outstretched hands first, running down my arms and my face and my neck and my chest and my stomach and my legs and it's burning and it's burning me and I’m opening my mouth to scream but that burns with this acid and my skin is pockmarked and sizzling and it hurts so badly please help me it hurts can anyone hear me is there nobody left I need someone.

I know this is how I will end: alone, choking and drowning on the dry ground.

I became Stardust when I was little. I looked up at the night sky and wondered if I could tap-dance on the stars. The man who raised me told me I could. Stardust, he would call me. Now I was watching the tail lights of his decrepit car disappear in the night. Perhaps if I knew this was the last time I’d see him, I would’ve raced after him on my aching little legs, shouting goodbye as my voice rang shrill through the darkened woods. Maybe if I knew that his farewell was a bitter allusion to reality, the supernovae from which his stardust was made, I would’ve begged for him to come back, forlorn cries lost under the grumbling engine and the crickets who bid the world goodnight.

I’ll be there when you dance on the stars, he’d promised.

How naïve I was to believe him.