Two years have come and gone. My efforts have afforded me nothing, save my pen and paper. There I continuously write whatever I fancy, not caring if it is appealing to the public eye. The public would never understand, never! I’ve been locked away too long, ready to come out of hiding. It’s been two long years since he dissapeared. Forgotten by most. Try as I might, the memories of him still evade my mind. Like a pest hiding in some deep crevice of rock, contintually you try to cause the creature harm, to make him scurry within your reach, but to no avail. People soon became disinterested in my findings, and so I mostly keep to myself. But hiding one’s deep uttermost thoughts about the living (and often times the dead) can be dangerous. Concentrating by one’s self, ravenously eating up any thought of the forgone, extremely aware what the consequences of those actions would be. To dwell on the forgotten, the past, would be considered a terrible sin. Even the happy memories, soon to be thrown out of the mind, like one would throw worthless findings into the sea. But why all of the secrecy? One would think I’d be much more comfortable with all the thoughts, ponderings, out to the open. But the public doesn’t understand, nor do they wish to. Why, after all, would people bother with the queer discoveries from, most would call, a “pitiful soul”? “Bound to hell, that one,” they would whisper, “she keeps to herself, and all of her evil ideas are stacked away, who knows where. She keeps diaries, diaries that are filled with ramblings of every strange moment she has, every mixed-up thought she holds.” People, in all reality, are scared. They dance around with a mask of bravery, condemning the abnormal. After all, why shouldn’t they? I suppose they have every right to. And innocently enough, when in the corridors of my own mind, I whisper “Something isn’t right.” Am I the only one who can feel it? Does no one else feel the piercing cold run up their spine as the wind rushes by? Do the fleeting glances of other worlds belong only to me? Am I indeed alone? This belief I hold dear. So I hide from the eyes of the public, barely casting a shadow on the ground as I walk by, rushing, hoping to catch the wind.

-Mandy N. K.


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