1. A Voice Like Chocolate
Tell me again what stars are like.
I smile, “Stars,” I whisper, softly as moonbeams glancing off my windowpane, “are like the feeling you have when you hear a lullaby you haven’t heard since you were tiny. They are like the flutter of bird’s wings, or a heart beating quickly in excitement. They are like the taste of cold, clear water that you drink straight from your own cupped palms, from the river running free as the milky-way.”
There is a content silence, and I can almost hear the smile in the fuzzy darkness.
And what color are they?
I have to think for a moment before answering. “They are the color in-between silence and… warmth, I think.”
You mean that stars are gray?
“You know what gray looks like?”
Gray is one of the only colors I can see.
I nod into my pillow. The darkness secures me in a closely wrapped blanket. It does not scare me as it usually would, because the voice is back, and the shadow is nowhere to be seen.
“What colors can you see then?”
I can see all the shades of darkness.
Normally, the statement, sounding as if it were a line from a sinister fairy-tale character, would bother me, but the warm, black tone that it was spoken in placates my uneasiness.
My eyes sting, and I can feel them slowly beginning to close. A last thought occurs to me before I drift into the vivid swirls of another galaxy.
“Will you protect me from the shadow?” I mumble. From the corner of my silted eyes I can see a shifting movement at the foot of my bed.
I am not afraid anymore; my voice is with me. I know it answered, but I cannot grasp at those silky, chocolaty, words as I fall asleep.
2. An Ocean Of Tears
The doctors tell me that I don’t have much more time. They said they thought it was better if I knew, but their eyes creased with worry when they told me, and my parents showed their tears to the window. I told them I wasn’t afraid. Still, they shouldn’t make hospital walls white. Or maybe they just don’t know that fear is white.
As I lie in the darkness, the room is silent except for the beeping of the machine by my bed. I wait for it to come. It doesn’t say anything at first, but I can feel it there.
“Hello.” I say softly. The voice smiles.
“What would you like to know about tonight?” I ask.
There is no pause before it says, the ocean.
“…It’s salty,” I begin, “like….”
Like tears?
“Yes,” I whisper. “They are both salty, and they both set us free. The ocean is like the wind; it’s like the feeling of working hard for something, and then finally getting somewhere. It’s the feeling an animal probably has when you open the cage and let it out. Its color is the sound rain makes on the pavement.”
It is beautiful.
“Yes.” I say. My voice trembles.
Why does it make you sad?
“Because I will never see it again.”
Like tears.
I smile. No, I will never see tears again.
“Yes.” I say, “Like tears.”
3. Of Rainbows And Shadows
It is that moment of waiting, when Apollo’s chariot lingers reluctantly at the edge of the horizon, wrinkled from smiling like the corners of an old man’s eyes. Purple shadows lengthen and draw across the sky; the cloak of the Lady Dusk. And as she brushes her flaxen hair, golden wisps of it fall to streak the sky.
I am alone in my hospital room.
The shadow is back.
It hovers at the foot of my bed, shapeless, and wavering like the transparent flame of a candle, only dark. The room feels strangely empty, making me intensely aware of only the two of us here. A cold, stealthy, sweaty, sort of fear, creeps up my neck and waltzes like a ballet dancer on tiptoe down my spine. I want to scream and call out for someone to come rushing to my side, but my throat is dry and my voice is so weak I don’t think it could make a sound. I could push the little red button above my head, but I’m afraid that any movement might draw the shadow’s attention to me.
I can feel it watching me.
My breathing is heavier, and I am sweltering under my blankets, but all the same, I draw them up about me, as if they were some sort of shield.
The sun has finally made its decision, and no longer shows outside the window. The sky is dark, and the room is dark except for the small lamp on the bedside table at the bottom of the bed, creating the small illuminated circle that the shadow stands in.
Then it moves.
Slowly, it slinks along the wall, and down, down under the bed. I can feel my eyes widening, and a trickle of a tear sliding down my sweaty cheek.
Don’t be afraid.
And then all the tears come, but they are of relief. My voice is back, and my fear evaporates like a small patch of humidity on a cold windowpane.
Don’t be afraid. The voice croons again. I smile, and sigh. I push the blankets down to let the cool air swirl around me.
There are a few moments of peaceful silence.
Tell me what… A rainbow is like… My voice says longingly.
I settle back into the pillows to think. “A rainbow…” I trail off. The voice sighs.
“Hmmm…” I close my eyes. “Red. It’s the color of faith, or believing in something. It tastes sweet… but sour at the same time… like… oh, like an apple slightly before it’s ripe. Orange… is restless, it’s that nervous feeling when you know something isn’t quite right. It tastes bitter and sugary like medicine. Yellow is happy and cool like the early summer air, and green is mystery. Its like the wind, and the ocean, and its like the smell of damp earth in the autumn, right after it rains and the sun shines on it.”
Here the voice sighs again, and mutters, Like the ocean… like tears…
“Indigo.” I continue, my voice growing quieter, “It is calm and thoughtful… but more than that… Its knowing. Its when you sit outside on the damp grass and listen to the nature and simply feel it. It’s beauty. Violet tastes salty, like tears. It is the color of sorrow. It is life and it is death.”
I yawn. “But a rainbow is all of these things put together.”
It is silent once more. Finally the voice whispers, Thank you.
As I drift to sleep in the soft, comforting, stillness of its presence, I whisper a last question.
“Who are you?”
As I am pulled under, I wish I had not asked, or had not heard the answer.
I am the shadow under the bed.
4. End
Today I have many visitors. It’s as if they knew, and it scared me. My parents did not leave tonight, but they sit in the chairs across from my bed, asleep.
It is night again.
I start when the shadow appears at the foot of the bed, but I have prepared myself for it all day. It is nothing bad I tell myself. It is the voice.
The shadow is hesitant, but when I am calm, it glides softly, like a fish through the water, to my side.
“Hi.” I whisper. My voice breaks, and I feel strangely weak. I lick my dry lips.
“You are the shadow.”
The silence speaks yes.
“But you are still the voice?” A hint of worry strains through my voice.
I can feel the smile.
Yes, I am the voice.
“Do you have a name?” I question weakly.
The voice doesn’t answer; it knows that I know already.
“I can’t tell you about anything tonight.” I say weakly. I feel so tired.
Would you like to ask [i]me about something?[/i]
It says this softly, and that chocolaty voice melts me and rocks me like a baby in a cradle.
I look at the shadow and smile. I guess somewhere, I knew it was time as well.
“Tell me about death.” I say.
The smile seeps into me like a sunbeam. Death sighs.
Let me show you.
