Daphne

There is the sky, the ground, the night, and the moon. It is clear as day with bright fog hanging above. The clouds are too white, I am confused and sick. I sit inside a hall where a tall Asian man walks with such confidence and plays the most mediocre concert.

The stage resembles Paul Hall in The Juilliard School, the luminescent one across the orange lounge chairs. The color soaks up the memory of the wife of a brutal man that was a slave to his impulses. The man emblazoned into my helpless youth.

The performer is wearing a black suit with shiny Italian leather shoes. It squeaks with every flutter, audible to the oldest ruge in the crowd. He places his left foot on the soft pedal delicately, the murmurs overpowering his diffident tone.

I am sitting behind the red-headed girl. She has braided pigtails, I want to grab each one in my hands and shake them until her head feels as clouded as mine. I wonder why I have such primal urges, but the boiling hatred blinds me.

I exit the auditorium. The pace of my steps is getting quicker, rapidly keeping up with the stranger I am following involuntarily. The bobbing red, up and down, teases me unbearably. She walks towards a black lady attending to a group of despondent orphans. The child motions with her tiny arm, beckoning me to join. Despite the growing sickness in my stomach like an unwanted pregnancy, I can not resist.

I follow the group of children into a dormitory. They are homeless, parentless, and poor. There are twin beds side by side in each room, the air musty and the dust flying in every direction. I want to escape but can not alone. The red-headed child will be my shield, my guardian.

I see her in broad moonlight. She has the palest skin with freckles that bring out her brown eyes, the flint of red in her hair darting with the beams. She tells me of a tree house and says she will take me there. It is high up in the sky, and nothing can expose us.

I run up the attic stairs with her when it suddenly starts to flood with water. We are in a tunnel filling up like a sinking ship but we continue towards the tree house. It is cold and painful on our hands and knees. I am diligently behind her when the roof breaks open and the tunnel starts to collapse mid-air. I dare not to look below, we are high and the ground is low. The water pours over violently when the red-headed child does something unforgivable. She pulls a set of bars between us so I can not continue further. I am stuck here alone in this sewer up in the air. I will remain until the piece of iron I am holding onto falls to the ground.

Something tugs at me but I am terrified to move. The performer grips my leg from a plane that is sawed in half. It is swerving but he extends his hand to help me get on the raft. I cast myself onto the ruins, glancing at the bars where the girl disappeared. We are slowly moving down and a burning rage penetrates me. I fantasize about catching her, pulling on the two pigtails and strangling her with one.

We are descending and I know that I will die with the pianist. A breeze gently lifts me into a tree where I gather my bearings and land on my feet. Nurses next to the forage of trees wait for those still in midair, holding towels and warm bottles for us. One wraps me in a white blanket and I continue walking. It is so bright but I can not see. My feet press forward against my will, walking towards the moonlight. I will catch the red-headed girl, I will make her pay for abandoning me. But first I enjoy the moment of stability as my feet are rooted into the ground.

Daphne

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