IArt Photography Writing Poetry
Click here to submit your work! >
<- Submit your original writing here!
Blackness surrounds me. A dulled vision, I can’t open my eyes.The blackness numbs the pain, momentarily. I can’t bear the thought to face what’s before me. My sense of sight lost, but my sense of ponderment thrives. I hear the voices; sharp like blades, hurtful like a piercing to the heart. My breathing quickens, the familiar tempo of my ever beating hearts pounds harsher, more prominent. Perspirations of sweat collect at my hairline, a single droplet delicately trickles down my forehead resting at my eyebrow, dampening the follicles of hair. An itch, too paralyzed to scratch. The voices urge me not to look, because if I do, the truth will unfold. I don’t want to open my eyes. I couldn’t. What was stopping me? Me. I was. My eyes squeeze shut tighter, my face scrunches up, feeling the tightness of my skin. The chasm of my eyes allow one single tear to escape its prison.The voices inside, persistent, tell me not to open my eyes. Don’t give in. A monster awaits. But my eyes throb, blood pulsating in my eyelids, heat radiating. More salty tears well up in my eyes, starting an adventure down to my cheeks, a trail of emotions. My eyelids, seeming to have a mind of their own, open, to reveal a whole new sense; sight. Having sight does not mean you are seeing. I cannot see what awaits before me yet. Bright lights pummel at my optic nerves, too bright for anything to be made out. My vision, tampered with tears and durations of a black haze. Fuzzy, I try to focus on what’s before me. I see it. The monster who I cannot bear to look at. The battle has just begun.The voices enrage at me. Blood rushes to my chest, a warming flush. My mind races and screams in frustration. My fists tighten, surely if I squeeze any tighter, my bones will shatter. Their fingernails dig into the flesh of my finger, a warmth makes way to the surface, a thick liquid emerges. Dizziness comes at me like waves, pushing and pulling, dragging me deeper under the surface. The creature who waits for me is my biggest enemy. I am never good enough in their eyes. I will never be. An overwhelming feeling of hatred and a longing sadness strikes me, the same emotion I feel everytime these recurring battles takes place. My mouth opens as if to say something, but my lips don’t move, a voice doesn't escape. The only thing that escapes is the breath I didn't realize I was holding in.I can’t look into their eyes. The gateway to their soul. Exhaling and avoidance takes place. Then we meet each others eyes. The thumping in my chest is quicker, louder. Everyone can hear it, everyone knows. It stares into my eyes with tears dripping down her cheeks. My shoulders sink, a weight dropped, one I won’t be able to hold for long. Mascara paints lines of black under her eyes, accentuating her emerald green eyes. Eyes lustrous, radiant, but she obtains nothing else. If that. Eyes enabling you, if you look deep and long enough, to see her pain, even if she’s smiling. Her nose too wide, her cheeks too puffy. Her face, not symmetrical enough. Her jaw too wide. Her ears sticking out too much. Her appearance, not attractive enough; not good enough. A quivering lip faces me; no wonder I loathe the sight of her… She’s a burden to the eye. She’ll never be good enough in my eyes, nor will I in hers. The battle is over. Quick, but relentless; causing unfathomable destruction. The mental exhaustion fades, but the battle scars never do. Won by the voices, pounding at my head like a mallet. As I stare into the mirror I see her. Me. My biggest enemy, my hardest competition. Our hands tremor in unison, scarred by the tenacious battle. My heart wretches in half, followed by a blow to the stomach. I realize, she realizes, you’ll never be good enough. Not like the others. Never. Never have I won the malicious war with the voices or her, my conscious and reflection. My breathing slows, I sniffle trying my best to compose myself. My shedding of tears eventually wanes, leaving my skin stiff from dried tears. My lips, salty from the tears that ventured down to my mouth. My reflection, an utter mess. No one else can know the battle I face every time I am faced to look at her. Everytime I look at myself. Nobody understands... the voices always win.
Metal clanged against metal as the two masters dueled. Both were evenly matched. They had an audience too, to watch this stranger come into their land and challenge their best swordsman. Everyone had, of course, picked the teacher of the school, as he was the best among them. Everyone held their breath as they watched the fight drag on. A little girl squirmed her way to the front, eager to watch the duel.
The stranger had stark brown hair and eyes that shimmered like coal in a fireplace. His tunic was little more than threads now, and the sleeves on his arms rolled up, showing off tan skin. This man was undoubtedly a Venan. A job that required a special education from the time you were 8 until you were 20. Men like these were trained to keep the monsters, the Truci, at bay to the east. This man was a master with the sword, and his opponent might not have fought for years, but he was still on even ground.
The little girl just stood with amazement as they fought. Nothing like this had ever happened in their small little village in the mountains. As if her thick glasses wanted a part in this fight, they slid off her face and were crushed underneath the stranger’s feet. She stood there, shaking in her boots. The stranger called a time out, then looked at what he had crushed. He knelt, looking at the thick frames. He met the little girl’s eyes.
“Were these yours?” he asked, pointing to the crushed remains.
“Yes.” she feebly answered, voice shaking. She looked away from him, her eyes to the ground.
“I’m terribly sorry. You must be blind without them.” She closed her eyes. “Here, let me buy you some new ones.”
“Why not?” he looked puzzled. Even with her glasses removed, she could still make out his face. Her vision had progressively been getting sharper, which made headaches almost completely unavoidable. The glasses she had were special. They had been made for someone who almost couldn’t see, which had toned down her own vision, enough so that the headaches were less frequent. She grabbed at her temples and tried to think of a good enough excuse.
“That would be too much. I’ll save up for my own.”
“Where are your parents?” She squished her eyes shut even more. Her mother had died in childbirth, and her father… He seemed to guess the truth, and stopped talking about it. “Come on, let’s get you some new glasses.” he grabbed her hand, pulling her along. Her eyes stayed clamped shut throughout the walk to the store. Her head rang with pain, but it wasn’t like she could do anything about it. This, enhanced vision had started when she was a toddler, and had continued to become more potent. The stranger asked for a new set of glasses for her, and the attendant rushed to the back closet. Within a few minutes, he handed her a new set of thick lensed glasses, identical to her last pair. She shoved them on her face, and opened her eyes. This time, the world was normal. No spirits, close ups of every person's face, nothing. Her head’s sharp pain had dulled, thanks to the glasses. The stranger looked back at her.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much.” she replied. He looked at her strangely, then went back outside to continue his duel.
A Few Years Later…
“Are you certain she’s the one you're looking for?” a man asked. Asperia crouched on her makeshift bed in the alleyway. It wasn’t really a bed, but it was enough. A thin sheet hung between the buildings, with a thick fur blanket on top. Asperia huddled beneath the fur blanket. It was cold outside, and she had no desire to freeze. Over the years, her vision and hearing had increased tenfold. Her touch, taste and smell hadn’t. She had learned how to control them, and now she was eavesdropping on two men that had entered the constrained village.
“Yes, I am certain.”
“What if we’re chasing a ghost? Have you seen the winters here? It gets quite cold. She could have died years ago.”
“No. she’s too resourceful for that.” the second man paused. Then she heard them asking other villagers for a girl about her age. Her body tensed. She never did like the spotlight, and this would surely push her into it. The men kept going around, asking the same question, and being denied every time. They were coming up on Asperia’s little space, and almost passed it. The first man was the one who turned back.
“Hey! Is this the one you were looking for?” he pointed at Asperia. Asperia sighed mentally. She was stronger than this man, but she wasn’t looking for a fight. The second man rounded the corner and walked up to Asperia.
“What’s your name?” he asked politely. She grumbled her name, so that he couldn’t hear it. “Excuse me?” she kept up the act of him not hearing it until the man looked like he was about to hit her. Then she replied, loud enough so he could hear,
“She’s definitely the one we’re looking for.” Asperia silently cursed. The only people that would get that kind of conformation would have been sent from her father. The man everyone told her to avoid.
I hear the beautiful sound of music
His fingers flying across the piano
So elegant and sweetly
I truly love music so tender
'Music' By Cecilie thomas
Photos By Mrs. Patty
Photos by Addie Hall
By James Davies
Photography by Madelyn Call
Art By AJ Empey
2. Rainy Day
3. Forest Girl
4. Pirate Mermaid
Art by Jozie Allem
Submit YOUR Work
by Feb 22
Winter Edition of
Submit your original work here!