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I started awake and unconsciously reached for my alarm clock to shut it off. I sat in the darkness, silent. Then everything came back to me.
Everything extraordinary I’d felt was gone. It was such a typical summer morning, I might have laughed at the idea of it being anything but a dream. Yet I knew that it had been real—but that was impossible!
I heard the clatter and murmur of morning noises outside. I had to live through today. Setting my teeth, I rose and headed out of my room. I’d never known that I was a great actress. I put on a façade and got myself through every hour of the day.
I kept this up for three days, never feeling so apart from the human world.
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One night, I listlessly finished a novel to which I hadn’t paid the least attention. Then I went to my open window and looked outside. The night was unusually cool and clear. The sky had poured out all its rain earlier, so the air was delicately moist and silky. Small breezes fluttered into my hair. I hadn’t felt so calm and happy since that impossible day. Suddenly, I felt something—oh, it was another Wind! As I stood there, thrilling and feeling the exhilaration of the cascade of airy loveliness inside me, I felt and realized many things.
I realized that I had been chosen by the supernatural in a way—in a lovely way. Instead of traumatizing occurrences, I’d had unearthly beauty fed to me by small drops—my Winds—ever since I was young, until that day, when it opened its wonders to me. They invited me into their midst, and I had been able to be a part of it. I had been given the chance to join it permanently. If I had walked deeper into that world and never had looked back… I would never have returned. I don’t know what would have become of me. I remember, something held me back when I was about to do so. Now I knew that it was my real self who did. I wasn’t a ghost or a spirit—I was a girl.
I began to smile. It had been silly of me to think of myself as something inhuman. I had been born into this world, in which I had lived in for over a decade. Clearly I was different—but perhaps there were others who were just as different. I had never bothered to look.
The unknown had been a part of me, Lilith Starr, for as long as I could remember, enrapturing me with small doses of its beauty. I had followed it blindly, trying to discard my human identity, to immerse myself in it, and one day, to dissolve into it. Yes, I had had the chance—and yet I had declined. Now it was time to let it go. It had never really been mine. It would be my friend and my guide through life—but not a part of me. I was my own self, of the earth.
I was suddenly flung back into reality—standing on my own feet—gazing blindly out my window. Illuminating me was pure joy—an exhilaration to be alive—an eagerness to really live my life as a human girl. Laughing, I flew outside into the starry night. Oh, I hadn’t realized there was such beauty outside my own head! The cold night winds were quivering, young, and best of all—real. The night’s clear shadows and whispers sharpened the world’s little secrets. The trees clad in darkness, wearing glitters. The stars that led my eyes to another—and another—and another. The luminous calm of the clouds. The wonder of the night, unlike that of the unknown, was imperfect and did not possess unworldly colors or shimmers, but it was very beautiful, because it was delightfully and completely earthly.
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The next day—and the days after—were as wonderful as waking up from a deep sleep, refreshed, as I unlocked my heart fully to the wonders of this world.
I relished waking up to a dreary wet morning, dim with pouring rain, the air a moody blue. After a warm and cozy breakfast in the bright kitchen, I yielded to a sudden urge to run outside and dance and sing in the rain, and it was blissful to feel like that little girl again, hair drenched, carefree, spirited.
I volunteered at a festival. I spent the day surrounded by loud music, colorful crafts and paintings, dancing and singing, dust and sunshine, noise and people. I was drained and exhausted when I came home, but I realized that I had enjoyed the day overall—the bold art and the vivid music had resonated with the wild part of me.
I went to the library and met a girl my age at the classics section. I met her eyes, smiled, and said hello. I hardly knew myself as we then held a short but animated conversation about books. We were able to part as good friends.
I enjoyed a lazy summer day. All day I sketched, wrote, danced, read, painted, daydreamed. The luxurious sunbeams streamed in my room and transformed it into a dancing, quivering, gold-lit garden.
I woke up early and went out to the living room. It was dark and silent, no one was awake. I opened our balcony door and slipped out with my nightgown and slippers on. The morning breezes giggled and flowed through me, filling me with exhilaration to live the day—to be alive to live it.
Even a traffic jam seemed lovely. Sunlight shoved its way through the car window and refused to leave. It was hot, stuffy, everything seemed to be in slow motion. Yet I looked at the cars glittering in the radiant sunlight—the haze caused by the heat that seemed like an echo of blurry magic.
I took part in the huge family housecleaning that took place on a very hot day. Sunlight slid in the open window and lit up the millions of dancing dust particles. Heat crept through the window and we all sweated buckets as we wiped, swept, vacuumed, moved. Our family managed to yell questions, answers, and instructions through the roar of the vacuum cleaner, and we also managed to laugh as we labored. When we finished, we were stickier and dustier than ever, but the house was perfectly clean. We all showered then ate ice cream.
Every day, hot or cool, I went outside. I named every tree and consecrated them with personalities. I experienced true companionship as I chatted with the dear tree-friends under their shadows.
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I was ready—excited, even—to go back to school. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I also knew that I possessed the power to tackle whatever life threw at me. I was a human and I would always go through ups and downs in life. I would never be afraid of the supernatural because I knew that it was a friend who had been so wonderfully kind to me.
I purposely set my alarm at 5:17 a.m. When it rang, I shut it off and just sat there, on my bed, in the dark, drowsy but happy, and with clasped hands, I smiled—for my friend—up there—unknown. “Thank you.” I whispered. “For what you’ve given me.”
I was rewarded by another Wind. Mixed with my sleepiness, I saw a shimmering form of a friend amongst the soft darkness. With a soft laugh, I lay down again, and as I closed my eyes, I knew that tomorrow I would wake up and live the day confidently and find the beauty in it no matter what. The next morning, I woke up with a feeling—a very faint memory of what happened that dawn—I could not remember whether it was a dream or not. However, it gave me an exquisite peace that filled me with pure joy. But it wasn’t a Wind. I couldn’t name it. Nothing could describe it. But I did know a word that expressed something very similar, a word I had always known and always loved, a word that was beautiful in both sound and meaning: Euneirophrenia.
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Submitted to Age 15 Short Story, The Power of the Pen Writing Contest 2018, Hamilton Public Library and The Hamilton Spectator
