The Weight Of One's Shadow

The silence after my scream felt heavier than the world itself. No echo. No answer. Just my breath fogging on glass, and the hum of the world pretending I hadn’t broken.

The priest remained silent and still, the glass flowers flickering in the light of the sun.

“Everyone here is a reflection of what they repressed”

The priest's words echoed again, but this time inside my mind. The words never ending, I tried to stand up, but was unable to find my feet.

I pause for a moment, wondering why this sentence freezes my body. I close my eyes, hoping to be able to reconcile myself. The words echoing in my head, I open my eyes and point my gaze at my feet, the frills on my dress looking dirty from being on the floor.

“I..I’m wearing a dress,” I whimper, wiping the tears from my eyes as if trying to erase something.

The words echo in my head once more.

“...A reflection of what they repressed…”

“W…Why am I in a dress?” I questioned, and the silence that answered my question told me all I needed to know. I rushed to my feet, slammed the book into the priest’s arms and dashed as fast as I could out of the garden. My feet sprinting as fast as they could, as if I was trying to run away from my thoughts. My arms flailing around as I stumble around the town.

“W…Why am I still wearing this?” I questioned, as my feet began to run faster, my face twisted with a mixture of sadness and frustration. My hands were trying to clear the tears so I could see.

Moments begin to reel through my head.

If magic represents a person's desires, then why did mine break? The tears began to blur my vision more, and the world around me became more of a wet and miserable place, perhaps a reflection of me.

In a flash, the image of the shards of the mirror begins to play back in my head

I wanted to escape from something. Go to a different world, and start again. So why am I still like this?

My pace begins to slow as my breath becomes shallow, panting, gasping for anything that could relieve me of my stress.

A shard of the mirror from that day flashes inside my mind, it shows a beautiful woman, happy and content with life, a red flower highlights her ear as a vibrant contrast to her dark dress.

W…..Why Am I Still Like This?!

I swore never to show this side again

I..I swore never to hurt anyone like this again.

Even if the cost is to myself.

The tears were overflowing. I stop by a bridge and look over the edge at my reflection in the water that passes under it. Flowing freely. The water doesn’t care whose reflection it shows; it knows what it is.

“So why…w..why…do I long to wear this….”

“Why does…it feel nice…b..but hurt so much.

A tear drop falls from my face into the water, creating a ripple that ripples through the whole body.

I grab the railing and climb up on top, staring out into the seemingly never-ending horizon, my body exhausted.

“I…I don’t want to exist anymore”

Nothing but the wind replies to my call for help.

I hesitate, knowing that if I disappear now, there is no return or chance of ever fixing this.

The corner of my eye caught a glimpse of what looked like a white crystal flower. In a moment of peace, I look at it, wondering if this is the last thing I’ll see.

“You don’t want to disappear, you just want the weight of your choices to disappear” The calm voice came from behind me. I could hear their footsteps getting closer and closer.

As I turned to my left and a familiar shape appeared. The long white dress, the pale white skin, her smile as gentle as the last time I saw her, only this time she was her, right next to me. I wondered if it was possible for me to reach out my hand and touch her.

“What is it that you hope to accomplish by disappearing now?” she asks, concerned for my future.

“I don’t know which to choose” I reply, my breath beginning to come back to me. The lady dressed in snow looks directly at me, eyes like unexplored universes.

“We often try to carry many versions of ourselves, only to end up realising that we need to choose one.” She turns to look out at the horizon, her dress reflecting every particle of light.

“But by choosing one we leave another unexplored…Such is the paradox of choice”. She finishes her sentence and turns to me once more, looking as if she wants an answer.

“Then how do I choose which path to take, how do I know which me gets to live?” I question, hand curling up by my chest as if grasping the answer itself.

“You don’t choose by force", she says, while stepping closer. The snow of her dress melting into mist with each word.

“There is no right path. Only the one that holds your voice without trembling…”

“...After all, the strength you could be looking for might be knowing your name.”

“So choose the version of you that’s strong enough to carry the silence of choice.”

The words echo through the fabric of the world, each letter replaying in my mind.

“Choose the one that’s strong enough.” I thought to myself, cycling through the many versions of myself. The many times I’ve tried, the many times I’ve fallen, all cycling through my mind.

I take a look at myself on the surface of the water, my reflection not fractured, not whole, but present. I climbed down from the railings of the bridge and turned to thank the snow white lady, but she was nowhere to be found.

Left with nothing but the comfort of my own silence, I decide to take this new world one step at a time.

“I will no longer avert my eyes”, I say, hand held at my chest.

I take a moment to catch my breath, my mind a little clearer, my mind a little lighter. With light slowly returning to my eyes, I begin to walk towards the bookstore where Iris works. I need answers about what a distortion is. I thought to myself, contemplating whether or not Iris would have any answers.

I arrive at the door of the familiar bookstore, with the dark wood on the outside and yellow accents, the atmosphere was comfy and warm as if the place was alive. I head inside and look once more at the skyscrapers of knowledge that had somehow gotten taller.

Where are these books coming from? I pondered to myself, maybe it was accumulated knowledge from her time in this world, or maybe it was something more. Before looking for Iris, I headed to aisle 10 to find the book on the history of this world. Hoping to find the page filled in with more than just silence.

The book stood there in the same place I had left it last, but with just a little bit less dust on it. I slide it out of the shelf and open it to the page, the suspense building up as I flip the pages over. Each one builds more suspense. The silence in the air grew stagnant. I find that page and find that the page isn’t anymore fuller than it was before, but the words have changed.

“The ones who haven’t found their shape are often the ones distorted.”

I close the book back up, attempting to find the logic behind the words. As I placed the book back on the shelf, the words clicked.

“So a Distortion is something that doesn’t know its shape” I place my arm on my waist and begin to contemplate the meaning…

“..Or someone”

Before I could finish contemplating this quote, Iris popped her head round the corner of the bookshelf, her eyes full of stars.

“You’re back!” She exclaimed, with a look on her face that made me feel needed, and my body felt a little lighter after seeing her face.

I smile at her, feeling the colour slowly return to my vision. Iris wipes the dust off her velvet skirt and adjusts her glasses.

“Would you like some coffee?” she inquired, gesturing to the door that led to the office part of the bookstore.

She closed up the bookstore as the sun began to set, the orange hues flowing through the windows like shards, a reminder that this would be the first night in this new world. We headed to the office in the back, the walls around us painted black, with a crystal chandelier dangling from the ceiling. The chandelier scatters light around the room, illuminating every corner of the room. The aroma of coffee begins to engulf the room as I feel the coffee hit my nose. Iris looks at me with coffee in both of her hands.

“Take a seat, then”, she said with a smile on her face. She looked like a star. A beacon of hope. The calm before the storm.

We sit down at the desk with the steaming cups of coffee on the desk. The smell reminds me of back home, the only time I could ever relax and find peace was when I was sitting down with some coffee.

I stare at the black surface of the coffee, my face reflected in the ripples on the surface.

I stare into the coffee as if looking for an answer.

However, nothing but my reflection stares back.