Anna Was Here
*.| It was a pleasure to burn |.* -@AnnaWasHere7 on Wattpad-
Anna Was Here
*.| It was a pleasure to burn |.* -@AnnaWasHere7 on Wattpad-
*.| It was a pleasure to burn |.* -@AnnaWasHere7 on Wattpad-
*.| It was a pleasure to burn |.* -@AnnaWasHere7 on Wattpad-
My hips and feet move to the rhythm, my body whirling effortlessly across the floor. My legs move back and forth like they have a mind of their own. I had practiced this dance countless times. My hands hold the broad shoulders of my partner, a man with dashing hair and beautiful blue eyes. I look around the candle-lit ballroom, watching the other women twirl in unison. I smile. They dance as one, and now I am finally apart of it. It is like a dream— perfect man, perfect dress, perfect dance.
But then, the music starts to pick up, the violinists quickly moving their bows to a falsetto tempo. I don’t remember this part. We start to move faster, and I hastily try to keep up. The dance starts to become even more unfamiliar, and I start to panic. My partner gives me a concerned look. ‘Oh God, I’m probably embarrassing him,’ I think. I try to focus on the people around me, attempting to mimic their moves but soon stumble and trip on my own feet. I am flying toward the ground, the ballroom becoming a blur of colors. The music halts. I look up to find an empty room, dim light shining through the slits of the closed windows. I don’t bother to pick myself up. Tonight will be the Solstice Dance, another dance that I won’t be attending. But, this time, the reason I’m not going because it of my mother’s refusal. It’s because, tonight, I’ll be running away.
I was only five years old The first time i leapt from the boat I was shivering from the cold Staring down at the water below
They said many have done the jump And that it wasn’t very high In my throat forms a lump ‘Then why, why can’t I?’
‘Because I hate the feeling of falling And flailing helplessly in the air...’ In the water I hear them calling, “Jump in! Don’t be scared!”
So I take a deep breath, Close my eyes I’m scared to death But want to try
I make the leap My heart jumps in my throat This moment I’ll keep The first time i leapt from the boat
(I don’t really write poems so sorry if it isn’t that good)
Mila stood tentatively in the crowd, staring toward the water along with everyone else. The moon’s light reflected across the deep blue, glinting silver laced in the churning waves. A low hum filled the air, anxious voices chatting among each other. We knew not to express our impatience, for that would anger the spirits.
The day before every solstice, our island’s folks would hold a ceremony to please the heaven’s gods so they can open the portal to the spirit world the next day. Dancing, sacrificing of harvest, toasts, and many other rituals are held. On the night before the solstice, the tide would recede and reveal a bridge to the other world. When the clock strikes midnight, the sky would rip open and reveal a world where the dead resides. You didn’t have to search for your long lost ones. They would find you. For they have been waiting as well for this day to reunite with their loved ones. Celebration would take place throughout the day. No one would sleep; they wouldn’t want to miss a single minute of this special day. And when it turns dark again, everyone stuffed with delicious pastries and tired from the long day, the spirits slowly drift back to the rip in the sky. Then the clock strikes midnight once again, and everything turns back to normal.
Mila peered up at the wooden clock tower on the bay. Half past eleven. She draws in a shaky breath and turns back toward the horizon. This was going to be the first time visiting her mother during a solstice. ‘I hope she’ll forgive me,’ she thought, gulping down the knot that had formed in her throat.
1944, Somewhere in Poland
The train car’s methodical swaying has become a second heart beat to me. The air is thick with panic and the stench of our pail for a bathroom. My hair and clothing are writhing with lice, but I don’t bother to try and pick at them any more. You could hear the muffled sound of war outside of our car, like a TV turned on in another room. Every child in this room has heard the stories about the horrid concentration camps. That was our final destination. This is the train ride to hell.
Suddenly, the girl next to me lets out a scream and jolts out of her restless sleep. I can see her eyes glisten through the dim light, her cheeks damp with tears. I haven’t met her in my life, but that doesn’t make me any less sincere when I grab her hand and give a reassuring squeeze. She whimpers but graciously accepts my gesture.
“My name is Lidiya. What is yours?” I croak in Ukrainian, my voice hoarse from disuse. “Nina.” “Where are you from?” “Kyiv,” she answers before starting to sob. Her shoulders shake uncontrollably against my body. “I miss home.” A girl across our boxcar starts to cry, creating a chain of moans and wails. I hear the girl next to me start to weep. I turn to her. “What’s your name?” She sniffles before replying, “Vira. From Lviv. I miss my Mama.” A boy sitting against the other wall pipes up. “I’m Andriy. I miss my friends and my home.”
And soon, the crying stopped. We each took turns saying our names and what we miss most, some making us ache in remembrance. But this gave us children hope, a spark in our despairing bodies. Whether it was a person, a place, or a toy, it gave us something to fight for. And that was all we needed to survive the long war ahead of us.
“I’m going with you,” states my younger sister, Ellie, grasping onto my arm. I twist around, keeping a neutral look on my face. I try my best to stifle my fear, not wanting Ellie to worry any more than she already is.
“I’m the only one who can stop them,” I answer, trying hard to steady my voice. “But I can help! I can’t just sit here not knowing if you’re okay!” “No, you can’t help. I’m the one with the powers, the chosen one. It’s my duty, my DESTINY.” Ellie shakes her head hard, refusing to let go. She looks at me like I am betraying her, tears welling up in her eyes. “Let go.” “No.” “I don’t have much time—“ “NO!” I jump at her sudden outburst and can’t help but shudder. Ellie charges into me, wrapping her arms around my body in a bear hug. Her tears form a damp spot on my shoulder, hot droplets that sinks deep into the cotton. Her cries rip my heart apart, each moan another tear at my soul. “I don’t want to lose you like Mom and Dad.” And that breaks me. All of the stress that had been building up in my chest finally erupts in the form of sobs. My legs grow week and I start to sink down when the voice in my head snaps me back into focus. ‘Millions of lives are at stake. You were chosen to save them.’ I quickly gain my composure and gently push Ellie away. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I slowly lift my sister up, invisible hands paralyzing her body and manipulating her movements. I ignore her cries as I move her across the terrain, quick but tenderly. She zooms across the land: 100...200...500 yards away, until she is a small speck on the horizon. After placing her down, I lift myself up with my telekinetic powers and am whisked in the opposite direction.
Sometimes, although it may hurt, you will have to leave the person you love to focus on the bigger problems.
“Hurry up!” Lukas calls down the flight of stairs, stopping for a quick second to watch the two of us try and keep up with him. I readjust my backpack on my shoulder and stumble up the rest of the stairs, Mia on my heels. The thrumming noise of our shoes echo in the empty stairwell.
When we make it to the top, Lukas opens the door onto the building roof. A burst of warm July air flies into my face, making my skin tingle. The roof is flat and wide, a five-inch wall bordering the ledge. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be up here...” I say, my feet refusing to step through the door. “If you don’t like what we’re doing, you can go back down,” Mia says in a mock-sympathetic tone. She makes sure Lukas isn’t looking when she rolls her eyes at me. I glare back. “Jess, I promise we’ll be fine. Besides, we’ll have the best view of the fireworks!” Lukas insisted, making his way toward the edge of the roof. I swallow the lump in my throat and slowly follow him. Why I actually didn’t want to be up here was because of my fear of heights, but I didn’t want to admit it.
The three of us sit on the ledge facing the bay (I make sure to stay a foot back) and take in the breathtaking view of the city. The buildings tower the streets below like pillars, their lights illuminating the night sky like makeshift stars. In the distance is the beach, where I could make out a few bonfires and groups of people. That is where they will be igniting the fireworks.
It had been an hour when I start to daze off. I close my eyes and lean back when— Pew.... Bang! Bang! Bang! I jolt up and suck in a breath when I see colorful lights blooming like flowers in the night sky. The sparks of these blossoms are drifting away as more fireworks begin to ignite. The three of us stare in awe as bright colors burst in the sky and into mini vibrant suns, then showering down like rain. Each erupting bang rings my ears, but I don’t look away.
I turn to my right to find Mia in Lukas’ arms, her head resting on his shoulder. I watch Lukas’ eyes stare down at Mia with the unmistakable expression of being in love. My heart plummets and a knot forms in my throat. ‘You knew it would happen eventually’ the voice in my head says. It tells me to turn away and to become entranced by the fireworks once again, but I couldn’t will myself to. Jealousy rises in my stomach, a monster that claws out my insides. The fireworks become unappealing, only making the scene more romantic for them. My head is spinning, and soon my fear of heights rushes back to me. I quickly stand up and stumble away from them, away from the two things I fear the most. Heights and them in love.
If you listen close enough, you can hear music. Music in the trees and the water and the cloud-covered sky and even in my boat. And, together, they make a grand symphony. The branches that sway and rustle against each other, susurrating in the breeze. The trickle of dew off of overhanging leaves that make a suicidal fall into the water. The faint sound of rushing wind and rain in the distance. All accompanied by the creaking of my boat as I sift through the swamp.
Sometimes I whistle, creating a melody for the brush’s composition. Other times, I just sit and listen, watching as the hazy light filters through the trees. I keep my line casted into the murky grey water, even though all of the fish had died a long time ago. The animals had perished soon after, which was a pity because they would have made great accompaniment in our orchestration. I have to say, it gets quite lonely when the only voices you can listen to are the whispering of trees and the growl of thunder every now and then. I wonder why I’m still here, unlike all of the others. Maybe God knew that I was the only one who could continue the song.
“Markus... that idiot,” John muttered, turning away from the body in grief. A wave of emotions pounded at his chest. Confusion, horror, and, most of all, anger. He let out a scream, piercing the forest air. His voice hitched, and he started to sob. Eva peered up at her brother, grief stricken and shaking like a small animal. She shuddered at the sight of Markus, alive and joyful only an hour before. The color in his cheeks had drained and the glow of his golden curls had become dull.
She replayed the events in her head, how John had been standing in the street, mocking Markus for not being able to keep up with him. A flash of headlights heading toward John. The blaring horn of a semi-truck. Eva screaming, having the sudden, horrible realization that the truck wasn’t going to stop. And then a streak of blond hair, Markus shoving John out of the way, and the horrid sound of the crunching of bones. The driver had immediately stopped and leaped out of the truck, joining the two kids at staring in horror at the dead boy in the middle of the street. And then, after a few minutes, the driver had slowly gotten back into his truck and driven away. Eva had sat still, watching John leap up and sprint after the truck, screaming “Bastard” and many other ugly words.
“He sacrificed his life to save mine...” John now whispered, his voice hoarse from yelling. “After all I did...” Eva couldn’t meet his eyes. She didn’t know who she was more angry at. The pathetic driver for leaving them alone, her brother for being such an ass to Markus, or at herself for not doing anything about it. “I just don’t get it... I was so mean to him,” John’s voice trembled. “I hated him, and he knew it. And yet, he still followed us around like a damn obedient, dumb dog—” He started sobbing again. “Why did he save me?” Eva snapped out of her daze, realizing that John was talking to her. “I—I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry, John but— we have to go. It’s already dark and we can’t stay in the forest at night.” John looked up at her with a gaunt expression on his face. “You’re not saying we’re going to leave him here—“ “What else are we supposed to do?!” Eva yelled, tears streaking down her face. “You shouldn’t have brought us to the forest, especially at dusk. Do you know how dangerous that is?” She shoved her brother to the ground, shaking in anger. “Eva... am I a bad person?” John whispered, still on the ground. Eva turned away. “No, just a stupid one.”
A blur of voices. Flashes of people shoving past me, a wave of bodies that prevents me from moving. All I can do is scream. “Michael?! Michael!” There are crying young women in parkas wrapping their arms around their husbands, each having the same buzz cut, the same uniform, and the same face of relief. I want this. Where is my soldier? “Michael!” I force my way through the crowd, standing on my toes to try to get a better view of the hundreds of faces. The train lets out a piercing squeal and slowly starts to chug away. ‘He must be here,’ I think frantically, my heart starting to race as more and more soldiers are claimed by their families. I start to turn and— There. A tall man with short, sandy blonde hair and tan, muscular arms. ‘That’s him, that’s him!’ My heart leaps as I race forward with a renewed energy and shout his name. “Michael, my love!” But, before I reach him, he starts to turn. I stop short and my spirits plummet. His face is not Michael’s. It was too serious and stoic. The deep frown curled on his lip wasn’t like my Michael’s relaxed and comfortable attitude. “Beth, slow down!” a voice calls from behind. I slowly turn to find my brother rushing toward me, a concerned look on his face. Tears start to form under my eyes. “I can’t find Michael,” I whisper to him. My brother wraps me in his arms and I start to cry in his shoulder. “Oh, Beth,” he mumbles. “Michael died in the war three months back. Don’t you remember?”