When I wake up, I’m greeted with the harsh glare of spotlights, a microphone in my hand, and a sea of people before me.
I still. This was not what I expected to wake up to. Surveying the crowd, I realize that they’re all staring at me in anticipation, as though waiting for me to say or do something. In my sleep-addled state, I stand there silent for entirely too long, and as the whispers begin to flit throughout the crowd, someone pulls me backstage.
“What’s wrong?” he hisses at me. “There’s a whole stadium of people waiting for you to say one thing, and you’re just standing there.”
“What do they want me to say?” I ask, confused.
He stares at me with a mixture of anger and bewilderment.
“They want you to tell them the meaning of life! That’s what this whole tour was about!”
“But I don’t know the meaning of life,” I say, somewhat desperately. None of this makes any sense.
“I know you don’t.” He rolls his eyes. “But all those people out there think you do, and they don’t much care what you say it is. They just want an answer. So you’re going to go out there and give it to them.”
He says this last bit with a clenched jaw and pushes me in the chest as he says it, probably for emphasis. I flinch away.
As someone from onstage finishes talking and applause ripples through the audience, I’m pushed back onto the stage, clutching my microphone for dear life.
As I stare out over the people’s heads, I’m more confused than ever. I’m supposed to be telling all these people what the meaning of life is, I have no idea where I am, I just woke up, and my hair is longer. Probably the most concerning one is that I have no idea where I am, although the problem of giving a speech on something I know nothing about is a very pressing problem.
The man from backstage glowers at me from the wings. I either have to talk now or face his wrath. And his wrath seems like something I do not want to deal with; he’s the type who is used to getting exactly what he wants when he wants it. So I talk.
“You all came here because you have questions. And today, one question in particular; the meaning of life. What is it?”
I pause, beginning to panic properly.
“Well. To be completely honest with you all, I don’t know. Now, before you start demanding your money back, let me explain.”
I have no idea where I’m going with this, and angry whispers have started in the audience. Backstage guy is really, really mad.
“I can’t tell you what the meaning of life is for you because I just don’t know. I can tell you what the meaning of life is for me, but that still doesn’t do you much good. For instance, I can tell you that I find life’s meaning in the flowers blooming by the freeway, in the fat toads on the sidewalk, in bumblebees and penguins, in the way the sun shines on the water and the sound my friend’s laugh makes. It’s in the breeze on a hot afternoon, in helping an old person carry their groceries, in giving up your seat on the subway, in strawberry muffins and peppermint tea, in the beauty of churches and cathedrals.
“I can find the meaning of life in so many small things. Maybe some of them resound with you, many not. This is the problem, this is why I can’t tell you the meaning of life. It’s because it’s different, so different between me and you. Maybe you find the meaning of life in your dog, or in your mother, or in playing your favorite video game, or wherever. It doesn’t really matter.
“What does matter is that there is a meaning to life! There is a meaning, and it’s up to you to find it for yourself. It doesn’t matter if you find it in solving world hunger or lighting a candle during dinner, it’s just as perfect and meaningful either way. There’s an answer, a point, out there! You just have to find it, find yourself. And then—here’s the most important part—you have to appreciate it. You have to be intentional, and you have to say ‘I see this thing and I love it.’ Every time you see something good, you have to truly appreciate it. Be fully present. Be able to say ‘I see this thing.’ And then know yourself well enough to say ‘and I love it.’”
“So, my friends, life is meaningless. It is entirely up to you to create your own meaning everywhere possible. So I’m going to ask you to, when you leave here today, be a little more intentional. Embrace your inner child; trust me, she’s in there. Go ahead and walk barefoot in the grass. Take a moment to feel each blade on your feet. Pick a dandelion and press it when you get home. Smell the air and feel it rushing past you. Find a little bit of happiness, of meaning, and grasp hold of it. Go ahead and write it down, make a whole journal of things that are your meaning of life, and when you’re feeling a little messed up, go and look through it to find the meaning again.
“Make your own meaning, and stay safe out there. Thank you for coming.”
I step offstage to roaring applause. I’m slightly shell-shocked, and as backstage guy comes rushing towards me, I blink, and suddenly I’m standing in my own living room again.
I blink around at everything for a moment, before making a decision and turning sharply. Marching off to my bedroom, I vow to sleep soundly until this all fades to a confusing dream memory.
I leave For the first time. It’s New Years Eve, And you both come To say goodbye. Even though it’s Michigan, And December, And six AM, And your twelfth birthday.
I’m gone For four months. We text each other Every single day, And play Roblox together. It’s great, but I can’t see you. And then I text you all: My parents have bought A house. In Florida.
But I come back, And you all come To say hello When I get home. Come running out To my backyard Screaming, hugging me And lifting me off my feet. You even share your sandwich.
I leave again Seven months later. And no one comes To say goodbye. But after all, It is Michigan, And November. And you all text me While I’m driving away.
I come back Six months later. A whole half a year. And no one is there To greet me, But you say “We’re at her house. Come join us!” And so I go.
I leave again, Three months later. Do you come to say goodbye this time? I don’t remember. I can’t remember. But I leave, After a great summer. Was it great?
It’s July When I come back. And there is no one. You all text me “I’m with friends. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And you do, But only for Fifteen minutes.
When I leave again, After only a month, There is no one To watch me go. I don’t know What happened. Was it me? I just leave again With my heart breaking.
I always admired astronomers. Always wanted to be one. And always have been one, I suppose. After all, isn’t an astronomer just someone who looks up at the stars?
On the day I tuned twenty, I discovered a new planet. My very own. I was ecstatic. After all, so long staring up at the stars, and suddenly I find a wandering star of my very own? It was my dream for years, and suddenly it had come true.
When we examined the planet more closely, I got even more excited. It had an atmosphere, it was in the Goldilocks Zone, and it even had green and blue on the surface—just like our own planet. So we sent out a probe.
With our most advanced technology, it covered the distance in only twelve years; it landed on the surface when I was thirty-five. The data we were getting back was overwhelming, and promised incredible things for our planet. We were fairly sure that it could support human life. The atmosphere was largely nitrogen and oxygen, just like our Earth. The green and blue splotches on the surface were indeed water and plants, just as we had prayed for, and there were even small animals wandering through the forests. To top it all off, the plants and animals were carbon based.
There were complications, of course. It was slightly larger than Earth, meaning that gravity was slightly stronger, which could cause problems for humans who might live there in the future. We also didn’t know enough about the flora and fauna of this new planet. It could very well be hostile to humans, full of wild animals or dangerous, undiscovered pathogens. There was also the possibility that humans would be hostile to the environment there. A human carrying Earthen pathogens could prove distructive to the native animals and plants, and the planet could end up a wasteland in a hundred years.
It took decades for them to decide what to do, all while I was waiting there, still staring at the stars, and wishing desperately that I could visit my own wandering star. After so long looking at them from Earth, I longed to be among the stars I loved so dearly.
After I turned sixty-three, they started preparing to send a party out to the planet to investigate it. I begged and pleaded until they allowed me to come; they didn’t want an old woman to hinder them. After three more long years of preparation, we were finally ready to begin the journey. Getting through the atmosphere of Earth was much easier now, and I made it just fine, to the great relief of all. Then began the long journey. Technology had improved even more in the decades since the probe was sent, and we reached it by the time I turned seventy-three, ten years after the initial decision to send someone out.
No one was allowed to set foot on the planet, not even me, who discovered it. We all stayed there for a few more years, researching and collecting even more data. Eventually, people began to fear that I might die there, or on the trip back, and began making plans to bring us back in. They had prepared a casket for me, and for all the crew, before we left just in case something unexpected happened, but it was approaching expected by this point. I was seventy-seven, and not getting any younger. Everyone expected me to die before we made it back to Earth, and I was fine with that.
I managed to push off the return journey for another nine months before I came down with a bad illness; maybe my last one ever. We were immediately instructed to return to Earth as quickly as possible. I was in bed sick for three whole months, but eventually recovered. Everyone was shocked.
After two years of traveling, however, I came down with what was really was my last illness. My crew did everything they could to keep me alive, but in the end it was fruitless. I was eighty years old, I had finally seen my wandering star, and these people surrounding me were my only family. They brought me to the bridge in my final moments so that I could spend them looking out at the stars that I loved. As I closed my eyes for the last time, surrounded by my family and the void of space, I was struck by one thing: there were no more stars.
Note: the anagram is astronomers/no more stars.
Ten years old, Writing in my diary, With poor handwriting And misspelled words, Planning out my wedding To a boy I’d never spoken to Just because He went to my church.
Eleven years old, Going to school, Seeing all the girls And how pretty they are, Feeling not enough. Not popular or cool, Not pretty or cute, Just there, existing.
Twelve years old, Feeling forgotten. Always second best To my best friend. Always third-wheeling, Because she was beautiful, And I ain’t never seen Two pretty best friends.
Thirteen years old, Crying in my room Late at night Because I wasn’t enough. Working out on the floor, Trying to get a smaller waist So that I could look like The girls on TV.
Fourteen years old, Reading rape statistics, Realizing the danger Of just being a woman. Hearing people talk, Saying that women Were less capable, And weaker, and worthless.
Fifteen years old, Listening to Taylor Swift And all the people hating her, Wondering why they did. Trying to make a difference, Stand up for what’s right, But always hearing a voice Saying I’m too weak.
Sixteen years old, Slowing giving up Because the world Is too deeply fucked And I’m just me. Just a woman. But I can never stop fighting For the girls after me.
I don’t belong here. These four words, Echoing through my mind. You shouldn’t be here. I’m panicking, my heart racing Like it’s trying to escape, To leave while there’s still time. The people I pass All seem so big, Staring at me Like I’m an imposter. I’m too small, too young, Too lost, too dumb. I don’t fit in Among all these adults. A little girl like me, Not yet sixteen, Going to college? Absurd! Ridiculous! But there I am, Blindly stumbing Through the halls.
Sitting in a swing In my home, my space, my refuge, With her sitting by my side. Falling out of hammocks, Laughing at our cats, As the lilacs bloom outside.
Sitting by a lake, Eating the strawberries we bought At a little roadside stand. Sailing our little boat, Cutting through the water, Looking past the land.
Sitting on my bed, Curled up with a book I’ve read a thousand times. Hearing all the noises, The birds, the wind, the leaves, Hearing nature’s chimes.
Sitting in a classroom, Coming back to earth, While the teacher talks to no one. Wishing it was over While everyone I know Tells me it’s barely begun.
—————————————————————— Disclaimer: I have never really written poetry. I’m not entirely sure if this is poetry at all or just me word-vomiting late at night, but I was having some Feelings and so this thing was born. Hope you enjoy :)
As the dawn creeps in, spreading light over the grassy knolls and down to the forest beyond, a young girl turns her face to the brightening horizon and smiles. Basking in the warmth of the sun and the gentle light that illuminates her face, she stands still, letting the peaceful magic of a quiet sunrise wash over her. Caressing her as gentle as a lover, the soft morning wind dances around her, lifting her long hair and catching the skirts of her dress. Despite the silence of the meadow, the wind sounds almost musical as it rushes past, swirling through the tall grass in a beautiful dance. Edelweiss buds sway to and fro, caught in the gentle currents. Flowers of all shapes and sizes begin to open, spurred by the light of day, ready to be picked and gathered by the girl.
Gathering her skirts up, she begins to run, laughter ringing clearly throughout the meadow. Heavily breathing, she comes to a stop on the edge of a stream, clear water trickling down ledges and gathering in shallow pools. Inside one such pool swims a little frog, no bigger than the pinecone buds on the trees in the distance. Just as the girl reaches for the water, letting it thread in ribbons around her fingers, the sun breaks above the horizon completely, marking the start of a new day. Kneeling on the bank, the girl sits for a moment, feeling the water on her hands, the life in the little stream. Leaping and jumping, the water seems to be given new vigor. Many plants sit on the edge, and they, too, seem to perk up, as though happy to see the girl. New leaves are coming in on the small mulberry tree on the edge of the stream. Overshadowing the water, the tree, though now barren, will soon bear rich fruits.
Past the river a ways sits the edge of the forest, pine and maple trees standing tall, branches stirring in the breeze. Queen Anne’s Lace sits at the edge of the pine trees, tiny purple flowers blooming in the middle. Rising from her perch on the bank of the stream, the girl makes her way over to the flowers, fingers gently gliding over the delicate petals, her touches no more than whispers.
Swaying with the wind, the branches above her seem to quiver slightly, as though in anticipation. Turning her attention upwards, she smiles again, reaching up to run her fingers over the thin needles hanging just within reach. Under the trees, the wind dies down a bit, but there are still moving breezes, cool air emanating from the darkened spaces under the canopy of leaves. Very slowly, the girl begins to make her way deeper into the forest, skirts snagging on branches and bare feet pressing into the old carpet of fallen needles.
Within the forest, the magic grows stronger, surrounded by the ageless youth of the trees. Xylose crystallizes in drips down the sides of some of the oldest, worn and scarred from their long life. Yapping wolves gather to the girl, docile under her piercing gaze. Zeniths converged as, against all odds, the goddess took her place among her subjects, in her home for the first time in a thousand years, foreboding evil to all the people of the world for a thousand more.
I jolt awake, breathing quickly. Groaning, I flop over onto my other side, covering my eyes and flinching away from the meager light coming through the window. Stupid streetlights.
I was dreaming about it again tonight. That makes… five days in a row. A new record. Tonight’s dream was different, though. Somehow it seemed urgent, more insistent. There was a greater sense of panic, of terror, even.
Rubbing the crusts from my eyes, I sit up, reaching for the journal beside my bed. My therapist thought that it would help if I wrote about it. Which it didn’t. Now the dreams are just bolder, more defined and more detailed than before. Even though it didn’t help with making them go away, I still have a way to track them. I figure they must mean something.
I just wish they would stop.
They always begin the same way, with me lying in my bed beside someone else, someone I don’t know. In my dream, the person always looks at me and smiles, clasping my hand, but they don’t have a face. It’s not that it isn’t there, I just am never able to pin down features, not even enough to tell if it’s a man or a woman. Despite the terror that it maybe should have inspired in me, at this part, I am never afraid. That comes next. When I am dragged roughly from the bed, the person reaching for me, calling my name. Somehow, there is always terror on the features that I cannot see. I scream, every time. Thrash and kick, trying to escape, but I never do.
And it all goes black. But it’s never the end. Because then I wake up, or it seems like it, and I’m in a cave. A towering cavern. Dimly lit, I can barely see what surrounds me. But there’s enough light for me to see the others. The other bodies that are all around the cave, some still alive. Some crying out, some dead and rotting, some barely breathing, but most that are just bones. So many that are bones. But the scariest thing, the thing that is more terrifying than my shackled legs, than the darkness, than the stench and the feeling of helplessness, is that all of them look the same. Every single person in the cave, even the dead ones, all share the same face. Despite the differing clothing, all of them have the same ruddy gold hair, the same light green eyes, even the same crinkle between their brows.
They all look like me.
But it still is not the end of the dream, for then it goes black again. Slowly, the darkness recedes. Standing on the edge of a monumental cliff, I can hear the cries and screams from the cave behind me. This is the part of the dream where I wake up. When I gaze beyond the cliff, I see something that can never quite translate to my waking mind, and the sheer enormity of what I see wakes me up. From the scraps that I recall, it is a hole. A hole that seemed to be ripped into the air on the side of the cliff. Hundreds of them, even thousands, crowding and filling every bit of space below the cliff. It’s dizzying, and I know that there might be millions more. I know there are many more that cannot translate into my waking world, or perhaps I would go mad.
Perhaps I already have.
[23 hours, 57 minutes, and 16 seconds later]
I slowly wake, peacefully for the first time since the dreams began. Shifting slightly, I catch sight of the person beside me, and my breath catches. In sleep, the curly brown hair, long lashes, and full lips are enhanced, beautified to the point of perfection. Lashes fluttering and eyes opening, I am greeted by a soft, sweet smile, and a hand reaching out to clasp my own gently. We both lay like that for a moment, surrounded by a peaceful silence. Then our eyes meet, before I glance down, seeing a smile form across those lips. I chase them, drawing us into a gentle kiss. We pull away, and those gorgeous eyes sparkle at me before catching on something over my shoulder. A look of terror overcomes the beautiful features, and I am suddenly caught and dragged out of my bed. A hand desperately reaches for me, a voice calls my name, and I descend yet again into darkness.
As I walk through the streets of Shutar, my father’s city, my city, everything seems normal. It seems like a peaceful haven, somewhere people can come and make a living. According to my father’s financial advisors and his bankers, the kingdom was thriving and the people were well-fed, happy, and sheltered.
At first, that what it seemed like.
I walk through the market in the main street, disguised, of course, looking at all of the wares for sale. I stop to buy a few small trinkets for my older sisters, and all seemed well. Despite being raised in a castle at the height of luxury, I am not stupid. I make sure to hide my money and not let it be known that I have more than a few small coins on my person. Even so, I am wary.
I came here to see if it was true, is everyone was happy as I was lead to believe. I cannot do that from one busy street in the centre of the city, so I walk further from the marketplace. I know it’s dangerous, especially for the crown prince, but if the crown should fall into my hands, I wish to have seen my people at their worst and unhappiest.
Of course, there is little chance that the crown would go to me.
I am getting further from the castle. Now I am walking through streets with dilapidated, crumbling houses. As I pass an alleyway, two men in it glare at me. Never have I been more thankful that I am not a girl. I shudder to think what would happen to one of my sisters if they had come here. Perhaps not Shelah. She is strong, much stronger than me, and has had much practice with the blade. Unwelcome suitors have taught her to use it well. But Deshi, the eldest, has always been more interested in history than fighting. She would be in more danger.
This is certainly not the perfect city I had been led to believe it was. I know geography well, and I know that I have only gone a mile or two beyond the castle, and there are at least three more miles to the city boundaries. If this poor neighborhood continues to the city limits and to the castle wall, that’s nearly three square miles of destitution, people who are suffering because we take and eat their food. I should map out the areas of less fortune and show them to my father. Perhaps his advisors have been misleading him.
I have finished my map. I have run or walked every third street in Shutar, and mapped it out. All that I can say is that the advisors were terribly wrong.
I reach my father’s office and am let in.
“Father,” I say, greeting him.
He greets me back in the usual fashion, before dispensing with the formalities.
“Your sister has told me that you have a matter that you wish to speak to me about.”
I freeze. I told Deshi about my trips. I had hoped that, although she was worried for me, she wouldn’t tell anyone of it.
“What has she told you?”
“Nothing. Just that you were studying something new and might come to me about it soon, and that if you did I might do well to listen.”
Ah. She supported me. That was encouraging.
“Yes. I have been studying the finances of the city, and of the kingdom at large. I thought that the numbers that were given seemed a bit too low, so I did a bit of research and calculations of my own. With a bit more flexibility and power, I could make more reliable statistics, and possibly act on them. You see, I think that the city is much poorer than we were led to believe. More than half the population struggles to find food, and over ten percent has nothing to their name. If we —“
“Enough,” my father says, raising a hand to stop me. “The city is poorer than you were led to believe, yes. It was a good choice to keep the real numbers secret from you. Unfortunately,” he sighed, “you found out anyway. The crown is a heavy burden, child, as you might understand one day. You must always try to do the best for your people, but you cannot do that if you have no power over them. Remember, the power isn’t in the king. The king is just a person. Ultimately, the power lies with the crown. The crown is what gives power to people, and we must stop it from falling into the hands of anyone with a thirst for the power it provides.”
“No,” I hiss. “No. Your crown is not an honorable thing anymore. Your crown is made of the people’s bones and hunger, and eventually they will come to find it, and you will fall, because you will have no support. No one will come to your aid, and your crown will be destroyed.”
He looks disappointed in me, like he hoped that I would at least be more aggressive in my anger.
“Very well. If that is your choice, then we have no more to say.”
He waves his hand and the guards seize me. I don’t bother to fight back. I watch as the king rises from his seat, walking over to me and examining my face closely.
“Do you truly believe that I will have no support? He who has money has the whole world at his disposal. And I have money. A lot of money.”
I lift my chin, look him in the eye, and spit in his face. My arms are pulled roughly behind me for it, making me gasp in pain, but I regret nothing.
“And once your slaves are dead or refuse to work? What then? What happens when you have no money? No money and no friends and no power. Then, Father,” I snarl, “then you fall.”
“Get down from there right this second, you headache of a person!”
No response. Keisha sighed, bracing herself to start climbing.
“I’m about thirty seconds from coming up there to get you, and you aren’t gonna like the consequences,” she warned.
Still no response.
Swearing under her breath, Keisha hauled herself onto the brick wall.
“If you make me climb all the way up there, I will shove you off the damn roof.”
Squinting up, she caught a glimpse of black hair among the tree branches.
“Okay,” Jess called down. “But I’m not technically making you do anything, so…”
She trailed off as Keisha grabbed a tree branch, still cursing.
“You’ll wanna jump to that one really thick branch, and then start climbing with your back towards the roof, by the way,” Jess advised.
Reluctantly, Keisha followed her instructions. With branches tearing at her hair and clothes, she finally found herself level with the roof.
“You made it,” Jess remarked, somewhat surprised.
“How do I get onto the roof?”
“Figure it out.”
“Go jump in front of a car.”
Keisha scooched around, finding a branch that conveniently was near the edge of the roof. Gingerly putting her weight on the end, she was able to sit on the roof backwards.
“If I can’t get down from here, I will jump and use you as a landing pad.”
“Or I could just lower you to the ground,” Jess pointed out.
“That’s not as satisfying for me.”
Jess ignored that statement.
“Why’d you come up, anyway? I was about to climb back down.”
Keisha hesitated.
“I don’t know. I guess maybe I wanted an excuse to try.”
Jess considered her.
“You know you don’t need an excuse, right?”
Keisha just shrugged. Changing the subject, she said, “It’s nice up here. You can see the bay, look.”
“Yeah, it’s cool. You see that tree? The really weird, really tall one? That used to be a marker for the Native Americans.”
“Tell me about it.”
And as Jess launched into a long explanation, the two girls lay back and watched the clouds move slowly across the sky.
