There exists an ache in me, an urge to define my existence; to find the totality of my being and to embody that being perfectly every single day until the day I die. And when I die,to have a crowd of mourners around my grave saying anything along the lines of, “The world has lost a talented soul”, or whatever. It’s such an exhausting feeling to have, to constantly confine the worthiness of my own existence to what others see as valuable. 

An interesting dichotomy exists within me, I wanna be creative and true to myself, uncaring of how others perceive me, and yet it is for this same crowd that I seek approval from. I work hard to “meet my own expectations”, and yet I don’t even know who set these expectations for me. Did I, or did I allow others to finally consume all of my thoughts?

Being a human is exhausting.

Laughter rang into the now chaotic street as the children chased one another in the darkness, each one clutching a ball of snow, waiting for the perfect opportunity to hurl it at an unsuspecting victim. The street lights cast distorted silhouettes into the pavement as the parents watched their children from outside their houses. Fathers grinned happily and proudly as the mothers bore a look of concern as they saw the children falling onto the snow. The air around them drew heavier as each breath exhaled as a puff of smoke. The children could feel the cold slowly starting to creep onto their skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Fingers gradually grew numb, and some of their noses tinged with a light shade of pink. Yet the children were completely undeterred, their laughters still echoing all the same, indifferent to the encroaching chill.

Further down the street, Emma hung the last assortment of Christmas lights onto their front door, while her mother removed the last batch of cookies from the oven. The sugary smell of fresh cookies filled their home with the irresistible warmth of the holiday season. The house was adorned in festive cheer, from the grand tree in the middle of the living room, illuminating the entire space, to the stockings hanging from the mantle, each one customised to fit each family member. The warmth of their house protected them from the cold bellowing outside as content smiles reached the faces of each member. It's a sight I knew all too well; such moments of happiness and content are but fleeting glimmers until my inevitable visit.

The last colour I saw was red. It is exactly one year later. Each explosion ripped through the whole city, sending deafening roars into every ear. Tall buildings were shook to their foundations by the earthquakes caused by the explosions. Bursts of orange and red flames licked the sky, giving it a hellish glow. The previous year’s laugh is now replaced by the shrill cries and screams of terrified citizens, running frantically to some semblance of safety. Bullets cascaded violently from above, shattering everything below. Broken glass crunched underfoot as the ground split and ruptured as suddenly and violently as a strike of lightning, seeking to plunge everything on the surface. Emma’s house, along with all of the houses in the neighbourhood, were reduced to piles of cement and rubble. I drift through the chaos, through the destruction, an invisible spectator to their final breaths, to the last cries that pierce the night.

Finally, everything was silent. No single scream could be heard. Dust and smoke shrouded the city. The job was done. The city had been sunken into complete darkness, the only light emitting from the fires that still roared violently. Snow began to fall gently and slowly from the sky, though this time there were no children to rush outside or parents to run frantically behind them. All that remained in the streets were lifeless bodies, some seemingly embracing each other. A dark, viscous river pooled around them, the metallic scent thick in the air. Blood seeped into every crevice, embedding itself forever into the core of the city. It was cold, similar to last year, only now there are no puffs of smoke as the people exhaled into the night. I’ve seen it all, my presence always remaining unseen yet always present, collecting their stories, unable to change their ending. The snow cascaded gently onto the city, blanketing the souls forever condemned to the carnage. All is quiet.

Session 1: Green

The notes fall from the piano like hail on steel. Just like many things that week, absolutely nothing was going the way it should.

5 things. He could count many more that happened to him, but these 5 things were perhaps the most significant.

5.) “We regret to inform you that you didn’t meet the requirements for our program.” It had been the 10th rejection letter he had received that month. Mother had always praised him on his artistic capabilities, always bragged to the neighbours at church or to her sisters during christmas about how he was going to be the Mozart of his generation. Father would always stay silent when she did this. A man belonged outside, working hard to take care of his family, a woman belonged inside the house, left completely to her own devices. That was what he always said, every night at the dinner table whenever Mother dared to talk about his exceptional piano skills. 

“ The boy is absolutely amazing, you should’ve heard him at church today.” And she wasn’t wrong. He had always been considered a prodigy by the whole town. The boy who would one day lift up his family name to heights they could’ve never imagined.

4.) “ I’m really sorry, but I can’t.”, she said as tears slowly started trickling down her face. The silence between them was almost maddening. The gentle glow from the stars illuminated the diamonds on the ring in his hand, the trees rustled in the distance, playing what would’ve been their soft symphony, what marked the start of their new lives together. Instead, it filled the silence between them with a sombre ballad. All the wonder, the joy that he had ever felt in his life, stripped away in a few seconds.

Subscribe now