In a bout of spur-of-the-moment flowing creativity, I wrote this “story” if you will about a girl on a shadowy journey, seeking redemption and purpose in her lackluster life. It is meant to be that way, I think, though as I wrote it, I felt more like I was making up some epic tale about a fantastically brave yet lonely heroin. That’s neither here, nor there. This one is mostly, if not entirely, rhyme-free. Writing it gave me a shot at exploring my potential ability to compose stories, as I’ve been considering putting one together over a period of time. The style is definitely in that of a novel-esque production.
Here’s to hoping you enjoy this lady’s little romp through the – guess what – darkness, yet again reaching towards an end lined with pure illumination to wash away whatever guilt or regret she has holed up in her heart. I might see a little bit of myself in this lass. Oh, and I won’t be highlighting/bolding/coloring any of the words in this one, because I want you readers to really get immersed in the descriptive emphasis I’ve woven in to each line. Have fun! It’s a smidgeon long, so read on!
She Searches for Meaning
The deep hallway lay before her in a void of cold darkness, it called out in its shadow solitude as damp walls met the flesh of her fingertips, tracing patterns on its long untouched face.
Gravity sucked her towards the void, tempting the wispy hem of her fringed white gown as though a feeble breeze had swept through the lonely passageway from nothingness.
She strained her eyes to see to the end of the hall, but, powerless to discern any end to it all, onward she struggled through the shade the precarious pass presented her.
Thoughtfully tiptoeing forth, groping at the jet black air, hands seeking guidance, she sallied forth in her effort to find the reprieve of light assuredly awaiting at the end of it all.
Dust collected on her dress with each careful step, as if to slow her efforts, to drag her down, and she regarded that deep darkening path with both interest and concern.
Concern for what she may find at the finish line, for what she may not find, with wonder at the potential failure that awaited her frail frame.
The quiet hallway breathed confidence down her spine, setting the hairs on the surface of her skin to attention, drawing her ever further in to the recesses of the straight maze of secrecy.
Blind to the intentions whispered in the wind, her prying conviction to conquer the desolate wasteland caused her to shiver with anticipation.
For miles she walked, counting each peerless step, until finally she reached a solid structure standing guard in her pathway through the void.
With a lightly placed tap, it began to crumble – slowly at first, then, like a stack of dominoes, it tumbled in a dusty jumble about her bare feet.
What vision met her delicate eyes was the soothing glow of a solitary flame in the distance, which, from what she could tell, drifted amidst a graveyard of leather-bound books along a hallway of bookcases.
Trembling fingers reached out and glided smoothly across the spine of each abandoned book, and her leisurely exploration turned to one of earnest curiosity to uncover the lives of each worn text.
The supple leather felt like silk to the touch, and though wanting to painstakingly discover each novel, she resigned to rest her excitedly shaky hands on a single work.
This volume displayed an extravagantly embroidered cover, laden with faintly glistening thread the color of iridescent pearl, and dyed a deep wine red.
Upon opening the novel to learn what sort of tantalizing tale it enclosed within its grandiose shell, she found not but blank, dusty pages worn from the unknown time it spent on that deserted shelf.
In her perceptive peripheral vision, with the aid of the still tenderly flickering flame, the shape of an ink pen stood plainly poised on the adjacent bookcase’s ledge.
Suddenly, she was overcome with the notion to write – but what, one might ask themselves in this momentous occasion, would she write of?
Understanding swelled up within her soul, and upon taking the pen up in her hesitant grasp, she began composing stories in a dreamlike fashion which told of things that had been both seen and not.
Years went by for her in the solitude of the dimly lighted chamber, being nourished only by the flowing visions which left her mind and splashed across those pages in vivid expression.
One day, the walls around her began to dissolve in to sparkling dust, opening up to a remote field of luminescent blue irises.
In disbelief, she closed and rubbed her tired eyes vigorously, opening them again only to find that that which she laid her eyes upon was neither a deception nor a delusion.
Baffled by the scene, she put down her enchanted book, and cautiously walked past where the bookcases had disappeared, letting her skirt catch gingerly on each flower she traversed along.
Smiling, she closed her eyes once again, letting the feeling of freedom and marvel envelop every inch of her body, and laid down delicately amidst the sapphire blossoms.
The roots of the perennials enrobed her fatigued limbs as she breathed a sigh of relief, giving herself to the surrounding hallowed ambiance, and she perished in that field with the smile still lingering.
To this day, no one has been able to find either that bewitched place or the spellbound tome which she scrawled her life away in to, spellbound for all those years – and no one ever will.