2012 CU Honors Journal

“Life, Struggle and the Pursuit of Refuge”

 Hey guys!

I’m taking a creative writing workshop this semester and I need your guys’ help - I’m not exactly getting the critiques that I would like, so if you’ve got some time on your hands, would you mind reading this?

Thanks and be brutal - no pain, no gain!

Rebecca

“Life, Struggle, and the Pursuit of Refuge”

            Two souls, brought together in one place.  

There was a couple who worked from dawn to dusk, waiting for their wishes to come true. Soon the wife’s stomach began to swell, and the couple rejoiced – one of their wishes was growing to fruition. Not long after, a little girl was born, perfect as the lines on a spider’s web. That is, perfect except for the lack of hair on her precious skull.

The couple set forth to find the village enchantress and pleaded with her to create a tower for their child. It was here that she would live out her life. The enchantress, while being incredibly skilled, was also a kind soul. She promised the couple such a tower, but this tower would cease to exist the day the girl grew a bountiful head of hair; the day she found the truest of loves. The couple was overjoyed and placed their daughter in the enchantress’ delicate hands.

The enchantress promptly set to work and within a few hours the tower was complete. She placed the child inside and then laid the spell of true love upon her.

“Small child, with eyes so bright, take heart in what I say. Today you may be full of fright, but tomorrow is another day. And on the day you blossom whole, ‘twill be a sight to behold, for true love is the key, you see, and so your tale will unfold. Wait with patience, my dear child, and life’s gifts will abound, for where precious time may be lost, so too can love be found.”

»>«< 

A couple. A garden; temptation. Ensnared. A promise. An innocent child. A tower, cold and unforgiving; home. The prince, the perfect man for any woman. But she’s not every woman.

Twenty-four levels; one for each year she’s waited. At each level she relives her past. Waiting. She doesn’t know the day, the year, only what is outside her window, a world of edges and corners. “Life’s not fair,” she has been told.  

The princes live her past as they ascend, each one retreating. Pride. Intuition. Resolve. Drive. These things keep her whole, bind her to her fate. With each retreat she shakes with silent joy. Process of elimination. “Those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.” Bernard Baruch and his dinner parties aside, these words strike a chord in her soul.

»>«< 

She grew up, as all children do until she turned twelve. On that day, life exploded. Days spent on the beach mutated to days of rain, thunder, lightning and her alone, inside. Her world imploded in an instant, with no mercy.

She has learned that life is not merciful. The last nineteen years have taught her this. True, there have been attempts, some akin to the child who faces public education; some full of bluster; some rude and vulgar, taking comfort in defacing her after their feeble attempts have failed. “It’s not me, it’s you,” they tell her.

Yet her tower stands. Untouched. Unaffected. Unforgiving.

»>«< 

He enters the doorway, stepping into a passage that is silent as the unknown. Here is where this story begins: that land beyond reach.

As he steps in, he feels a multitude of sensations. His eyes squint with the pain of pure light, his ears cringe at the sound of a thousand voices, and his skin burns with the vast amount of knowledge it receives each second. This overflow of sensation continues as he makes his way to the second and third levels, the pain lessening with each step upward. On the fourth level, he begins to notice things, his brain flitting from place to place like a bee in a field of wildflowers, agitated with the knowledge of so many things to be explored, yet bursting with the need to discover them all, simultaneously.

As he climbs higher, his intelligence, joy, and innocence grow, and he begins to mature, slowly. Then he reaches the twelfth level. Or maybe it is the thirteenth. The levels have become more unstable, no longer clean and polished, but dirty, sometimes with large sinkholes and gaps. There are no windows, no lights – except for one. At times this light seems to be the brightest thing in the room, but other times he cannot find it, yet is sure of its continued existence.

It is on this level that he begins to feel the weight upon his back increase. Admittedly, there had been a weight on his back as he ascended the tower, yet he had not noticed its presence until this moment. The weight maintained its rate of increased mass, until suddenly he stumbled, nearly falling over in alarm.

The weight is now intolerable. He may have grown used to it, his muscles strengthening as time passed; yet the pressure has become unbearable. And it keeps increasing, rounding his shoulders forward. Still he climbs, the light in front of him. When he reaches the eighteenth floor, his strength, though it has increased, has flagged to the point of breaking. He strains forward, his eyes seeing the light in the distance but questioning the truth of his mind.

“Lord, help me, I cannot go on,” he pleads silently, bodily. “Help me.”

Who are you speaking to?

On the nineteenth level, quite near to the twentieth level, he finds strength. It will cost him a great amount, but nothing is gained without some sort of loss.

It is here that he finds her. It is here that she finds him. It is here that the spell breaks.

Two souls, brought together in one place.