by Sophia Lettieri
Let your imagination fly…
Oh, it flew alright. It flew down the darkest of corridors, a dismal, downward spiral, lift being lost as a torrent of unrelenting winds pushed it down, shoving it into a somber, sullen place.
Everything seemed bleak. Wings seemed broken.
Flight, however, carried on in its torrential downpour.
Thinking. Imagining. Too much imagining.
Rain thudded against the window pane outside, and a small crack of lightning flashed, gray clouds rolling past slowly. It went unnoticed though. Your thoughts continued flying.
Falling.
What would happen if I died tonight…?
Every word rang clearly, resonating through your mind. Every syllable seemed to be annunciated with absolute, solemn fortitude.
Would it even matter if you hit the ground? Would the thud do a thing?
The ground was where everyone else was. It was unwavering. They, too, would remain unwavering…
When one is in freefall, one is weightless.
Weightless — Without impact.
Meaningless.
You were sure of it.
Meaningless…
Your eyes suddenly were downcast, alone in that darkened room, a shuddering sigh wracking through your body as your lips quivered, but the glassy-eyed look didn’t cease. You were like a cracked marble statue in the rain, resolute. Imagination was ready to take off… The word. That was the word, the thought, that sent the endless, unrelenting storm through your mind.
Nothing.
Nothing would happen.
Weightless meant freedom, right? Freedom to do whatever you so chose?
It was becoming difficult to swallow.
It would take days or weeks for my friends to realize I’m missing, wouldn’t it? Yeah, at minimum, a week for someone to think something amiss of my absence…
Rationale was drowned out. Imagination picked up speed, and jarring winds swirled about you. Rationale, from an outward eye, would be easily visible. It was close. It was only behind a clear layer of glass, observable… But your flight… It was during a passing storm. Rain pounded against that peculiar glass, relentless, and rivulets, cascading, obstructed and clouded the view as darkness continued to seep in.
It was as if rationale wasn’t even there, and, well, if it was, how could it matter? You had to get closer to view it, but how could you want to do so if it was something so non-existent to you, simply unseen?
Numbness clawed in. Your fire was being put out, and you were ashen. You were searching.
Despite it all, your fire was still there. It was just enough to provide one more thrust, one more thought.
What you thought brought you closer to the rationale, what your imagination flew to… Smudged, clouded concepts were just able to be recognized.
My name could burn anyone’s mind with a myriad of memories.
You quickly shook your head and chewed at your lower lip. No. How could it?
Suddenly your imagination took over:
Your friend turned on their radio, an innocent gesture, and it was that song that you’d shared. Tears suddenly stung at her eyes. Another friend drove by your town, and suddenly, memories of where you laughed and played all the time would come rushing back with bittersweet intensity, but now, all that intensity just hurt. The nostalgia was more than just that. There was no one to share it with, no you.
Your siblings tossed and turned in their beds, feeling the lack of that palpable, persistent presence in the house. People passed by your empty seat. They passed by your locker and your classes. There was an inexplicable absence. There was emptiness.
Why aren’t you there? Where did your light go?
Now your mind wandered to even more:
Someone finds you, and the scream pierces through the room and tears through with the most anguished horror.
Your best friend is called, and the other end of the phone has never met as much heart-stopping emotion as it is now.
Your family is cleaning out your room.
Your friends are cleaning out your locker.
Your essence is lingering, but there is no longer a tangible form to feel the good moments with.
Now there are sad ones.
Your heart suddenly ached. It was a different ache than before, and you decided to steer the flight of your imagination to an even more specific time…
Your parents are crying, sort of like they have been every night since the day, but now there’s incredible intensity as they’re trying to collect their words, not even able to articulate what they wish to say. Your friends are crying too. Your best friend has been in a deep depression, breaking down every once in a while at the newly darkened world. The depression is quite like the one that claimed your own life. Questions are all eating, gnawing, and tearing at everyone’s mind. They remember the hints now and dwell upon them profusely. They’d just wanted you to be okay and it was nearly blinding. They hate themselves for not trying harder. They hate themselves, endlessly wondering if there was something they could have done. Those thoughts will torture them and ring in their ears, and their imaginations will fly to joyous times that could have been, only to be built up with so much yearning avidity to come crumbling with eventuality…
The night before everyone was picking songs for you, crying and weeping at the numbness they are now forced to feel to simply make life bearable. They went through photos of you, recalling and reminiscing about every moment, and then they picked out the flowers, your favorites. The songs they’re listening to for your commemoration cause their hearts to clench and cause them to clutch at their chests, feeling physically ill with grief. Again, they want to have been able to have done something. They feel like murderers, as if the weight on them is in their hands and is that of the object that perpetually put an end to your existence. The blood crawls on them. Their skin aches. Their hands feel heavy, hefting around that solemn weight.
Now it’s the day and all the memories rush back at once, crashing onto them in songs, pictures, moments, and eulogies. No one, still, can truly get their words out coherently. The words swim in their minds and leak out through their tears, clinging to their cheeks and dripping down them in endless longing. Nothing can feel right. Everyone has so much to say, so much prepared with unadulterated honesty, but they can barely speak about how much they miss you. It’s how you know it’s genuine.
Even the people that you never knew remember you, and just hearing your story makes them cry or tear up. The people that do know you now gaze at that cold box, glinting in the pale light…
You always had questioned if they truly knew you, but their perceptions could hardly be their fault. They tried for you, and now, well, the tears shed by them are more than you’ve ever cried in your life.
Your jaw tightened and your skin crawled with discomfort. Sparks of feeling burst beneath your skin, firecrackers tingling and stinging but giving an undeniable alternative to numbness. You began to be more aware of your place… You hadn’t hit the ground yet, had you?
Only if you hit the ground would it cause all the grief.
If you could cause impact though, that thud, that would mean you had weight, right?
Meaning.
You supposed that when the whirlwind begins roaring in one’s ears, the songs once known are forgotten for some time… Now they were coming back for a little bit.
This flight was becoming less of a fall. It was exploring. It flapped its wings upward. It hobbled in unsteady flight, and in truth, was only for a few inches of forward movement… But it was enough. Somehow, it was enough. The path being explored was dark, yes, but it was illuminating. Everything was outlined in aureoles of a silver, luminous light, the kind of faint light observed only in the dimmest, raw settings.
Flight wasn’t a steadily occurring thing, but testing broken wings… It’s the one way to learn to fly again. What that flight managed to glean was a glimmer of hope. The phoenix truly lifted its head, hefting its heavy, ashen feathers, lighting them, burning away, but also stretching and splaying its wings for true soaring. In its trail, a path was scorched away for ash anew. Flight had felt low, and it was a fight, but rising into the light was now a possibility. From the ash you could rise. From the ash there was life ahead.
Hope was the updraft now. The lift.
Images flashed:
You were smiling. Your closest friends surrounded you as the beautiful flames atop the innumerable birthday candles danced with heartfelt playfulness.
You’d gotten a job that you were content with. You’d filled your days with ease and comfort with the help of your friends, and you had a life. You appreciate it. You appreciate everything. It took patience, but the bad moments were taught through. They made up a big part of your life, but so did the good. The good were now cherished, and most importantly, they were there.
A horizon was there.
Sometimes hope required help. But you had to let that help come.
A horizon could be there with hope.
Hope is what saves you from plummeting into the ocean without a chance.
A tear fell.
The horizon couldn’t be far. It could be dreamed of… There was life ahead.
There was light somewhere. The sun shone somewhere. The radiance of the rays hit somewhere.
Hope lived now.
Hope flew.
