A girl on the verge of death, still sees the beauty in the world. Giving her comfort that everything would be okay, and that its okay to be afraid of the unknown.
It has been two years, two years of hidden tears filling a jar. Two years ago she was diagnosed with Leukemia, two years ago she was forced to stop living, she was 13. She remembers what it was like to be a child, happy healthy and free. Going to the playground and seeing the swing smile at her return for another ride and laughed with her. The jungle gym acting like a second mother that would protect her from a rain that was unexpected, just like her mother tried to protect her from the illness.
The pictures around home seemed to be of a completely different girl then she was now, a girl with a hint of pink to her skin which now was as white as snow and thin like ice. Her hair a beautiful blonde with a curl with no end to it, it was down to just above her waist. The pictures of her early childhood did not seem to add up to the ones of present, a girl in her bed smiling falsely reading a new book her parents got her that week. She couldn't stop looking at her pictures and remember that the sun used to be the colour of her hair as it flowed with the curl of waves. She wore dresses of pink roses and lilies, her clothes were the Garden of Eden showering her innocence, a light rain before it began to pour sadness. Her Garden of Eden slowly began to dissipate before her eyes, and the sun took her hair back into the sky and into the harsh rain. Now there was only clothes are cloudy grey barely hanging onto her bone structure. She would never be that smiling girl again with the hair everyone envied, that girl died the moment the results came back and she was forced to stop living as the cloud attached itself over her head of skin and hats that are worn as a mask, to herself or to her family she did not know.
It was a day just like any other; her father was at work and her mother doing the weekly grocery shopping. It seemed like a moment frozen for eternity. The only joy she had was her window. The air seemed still that morning, something was different. She sat at her window just like she always did when she began to hear an unfamiliar sound. The sound was from the wind, but something was changed. She leaned in closer to hear the call. The wind called to her from the window, the window in which she would sit everyday and watch everything else but herself living, it called until she could stand it no more. She rose from her warm throne and began to walk, her feet feeling as if they were hundreds of pounds of dead-weight. She forced the unused to move as she began to heed the call of the wind. She opens the door of her closed in home and took her first steps outside.
The grass outside her home felt so still, almost like silence in the sense of touch. The air was refreshing and crisp, never had it ever tasted so sweet. The grass tingled like fingertips, caressing the skin under her bare feet as she walked into the welcoming woods. Each piece of green seemed to whisper to her to come more and explore. It seemed like a whole new world to her. Just beyond the view of her window was a whole new world or dimension she had never even noticed. The grass seemed to disappear the farther in she had gotten. Just like a worm on a hook and the fish biting the bait she entered.
She remembers the winds laughter as it carried the smiles of her friends as they played; all those times in the sun at the beach on vacations, the times in the pools when she would stay at home instead of traveling. The sun, the sun gave off waves of happiness and warm summer days filled with laughter and ice cream. She remembers a friends' birthday party that occurred in the summer, which was the summer she found herself ill. She pictures that day now with the clouds turning black and a rain that had shred tears for days. Never did any of them think her body was being invaded by something that still seemed silent, swift and alien to her.
She did not notice it when she first saw it; the forest was bathed in a fog and the smell of dew. The fog seemed like an emotion to familiar to her since she became very sick from her treatments. Fog was the expression of fake smiles she received when people gazed upon her and pitied her. The fog hovered over the forest like the ghost of her previous life, the life of when she was healthy and living and not being the walking corpse she is now. She spent much time reading literature, the lines filling the void of her stolen youth with her illness. Every false glance of hope and broken smile seemed to weaken her more, just as the fog damaged many aspects of the wood that now seems in similar condition as she, false, helpless, and broken.
The more she saw, the more she related to the forest, the condition of something, the appearance of others. The woods were her body's' new identity, the way her body before was a clone of the wood. Her body was aging and withering away but still attempting to grow with many different creatures inhabiting it like the disease that was eating away at her flesh and insides. The dew that came from the fog reminded her of the smell of her disease and breathed it in like a perfume.
She saw the small ball of fire in the sky as it basked the world in sweet warmth, her skin felt so warm. She sat on the trunk of a tree and let it warm her like the blanket gave to her for her fourteenth birthday, one of her most precious treasures. The sun was the earths treasure, something that kept it alive, just like her medical treatments which has stopped working. Now she lived for her parents, reading and the quilt her mother slaved away at. She smiles thinking about the blankets her nana use to make before she became ill herself with memory loss. She rises from the rotted tree and continues on her walk through her spiritual body and comes across something she could not seem to comprehend. On the ground rested the body of a tiny dead bird. She kneels down and just looks at it in wonder. The deceased bird lied there more alive then she. The feathers a beautiful colour of the sky and her pale flesh the colour of death on a living being. She kneels in the dew and gazes in wonder it like the doctors examine her on the metal tables just as she looked upon the bird while kneeling near the tree. "The deceased seemed to have more peace; I see it in the face of the bird lying at the trunk of the tree. I do not see pain in its tiny face, but then again could you even see pain in the lifeless figure once the spark of life was gone? Perhaps the silent fog was the cause of this tiny blue bird's life, maybe it crept up on it as silent as a cat and frightened it until it no longer took a breath, and perhaps this is what will become of me. One day the fog will come to me as silent as a cat and take me away just as quick as it did this bird," She thought to herself seeing the tiny bird in the dirt.
She feels a drop upon her face, the sky began to cry. As a little girl she loved to dance in the rain, she could do it for the whole time it rained. She danced and pranced around like a reindeer at Christmas in glee. Her skin began to turn pink; she finally began to feel like her old self. Perhaps this would be her last dance with the rain, she did not mind. She was no longer afraid of death, only welcomed it. She had found peace looking back and knowing her life had been lived to the best it could be. To the rain dances, and sunny days and dressed of flowers, and singing in choirs at church, many times singing at random. She swore the forest gave her wings, she had never felt so free. She began to feel out of breath and took a run; she might not get the opportunity again. She ran, laughed and smiled, the first time in years, she was living. She felt like the happy child that she was before the sky became grey and the tears flowed. The sun was shining, her skin had never felt this perfect, and she had never felt so alive. She came to a clearing and saw a little cave at the bottom of the cliff of the woods. She goes in and lies fulfilled on the ground, for a day she was alive if it were not the same tomorrow she would not mind.
She went to sleep happily as the god Apollo dropped the blanket of night upon the earth, the stars seemed to shine brighter that she had ever seen them. The sky was so clear she could see the satellites, she was looking upon heaven. She felt as if she had her long blonde hair back, felt the cool wind that came with the rain whisper into it. She was not the sick being that entered the forest; it had healed her soul letting her be able to rest for eternity.
She awoke the next morning to voices and someone putting a blanket on her and carrying her again, she was a sick child again. She shivered and sneezed but had no regrets from the previous day; she had done the most important item on her list she had lived. The doctor was at their home awaiting her arrival, same routine as always. He examined her, she had pneumonia as the result of her rain dance, and all she did was smile. Her mother cursed her and cried; she told her not to fret and that she promised it was worth it and then told her story of the magical woods. Told her mother how for a short time she had gotten her childhood and youth back as she played among the tress and dew.
Her mother grabbed her journal from her room, she told her daughter to write her story. That's all she did the day after her rain dance, wrote her story before she forgot it and was gone. The next dawn was breaking over her horizon as she sat at her window. She smiled for her story was complete. Her parents slept on the sofas in the living room with her, she wanted this last memory before departing. She reflected on all the moments that have led up to this moment. The moment the fog was coming for her, sweeping over her like a wave of peace. The smiles the sun has shared and the teardrops the rain had bled from the eyes of her loved ones and the sky of the gloomy days that arrived soon after. She rested her face against her purple journal and smiled as she felt the sun kiss her face one more time before she began to feel the cloak of the fog from her beloved rain forest. It didn't hurt, it was soothing. She managed to take out the letter she had written to her parents a while back for when this moment occurred. She placed it in the crease of the page she wrote her story on. The first sentence on the paper was, the moment I died was the moment I started to live.