THE SILHOUETTE
BY AUSTIN CLARK
Misshapen scars on a kind hand reach toward the frayed rope of opportunity that dangles, seemingly just outside of one’s grasp. The atrophied muscles that comprise the legs fatigue, and buckle yet again ...
How long has it been, how many times have I failed? I am alone at the bottom of this well; it smells of mildew and the decomposed remnants of dreams that have been shattered long ago. Their jagged edges cut my bare feet. I will find a way to achieve; I have done all I know how. I must fulfill my purpose before the rains of time, drown and dampen my opportunities.
I peer toward the frayed rope of opportunity each strand purposefully woven among and connected to the opportunity beside it, strongly affecting it. In my youth the rope was strong and full. I now recognize every frayed section to be a hard lesson learned and a place where opportunity has died. As the liquid drops of time fall from destiny's sky. They make impactful contact with this frayed rope of opportunity, rendering it weakened. I know that it will not be able to support hope’s weight when it is saturated by the wetness of times touch.
It is just then that I know what I must do. The time to heal is upon me. My time is almost up. I turn to the crumpled silhouette on the ground beside me. Had it always been there? ... Yes, I remember ... I remembered that when I began to fall into this well, I selfishly reached out and grasped your hand, taking you with me, and so much more.
I returned to the present. Gathering myself I reached into the worn leather satchel at the silhouette's side, it looked like a burdensome thing. It acted as if it did not want me to know the secret it may contain. I reached in with seemingly reckless abandon for what may be contained within. “Ahhhh !’ I yelled loudly ... the sound of my cry echoed from one wall to the next as it scaled the mountainous terrain of this prison, which lacked bars. From that space my hand emerged, the shadow slowly rolling off the end of my knarled hand. Between my thumb and index finger a shimmer raced delicately across the edge of a single seed that had been long forgotten in the darkness.
For so long I knew that I could escape alone. For so long I knew that I could never escape myself. I needed to forgive myself to heal. I embraced the silhouette ... I embraced myself. I am sorry. I will not waste what I have taken. I will not waste the healing powers of the connective relationships that are extended towards me, in my time of need. I firmly drive my index finger into the time-soaked soil, it returns aged and wizened. Next the seed and the potential it holds.
I hurriedly create a mound above this tiny chamber of life. Anticipating the miracle that I believed would follow. It hungrily absorbs nutrients as the liquid time causes it to grow at accelerated increments. Oh, how I hoped the seed would honor me with a magnificent form. Something tall enough to escape myself, and aid me in my ascension, ever higher. I watch with expectant humility as this unknown form reached maturity.
There before me, I beheld ... not something to aid me in my escape, but something to aid me in my acceptance of self. Supported intentionally by an unassumingly sturdy, green stalk and seven healthy leaves radiating optimistic, luminescent glow. Stood a single silver oval mirror laden in brilliant filigree just below the refractive surface placed seemingly as if standing guard rested a single word: “Smile." | AC