Skip to main content

Scout on Blinding Lights

       


     A deer with two strong antlers that lead before its eyes, seeing with distance and never close enough to touch with its own fur. Headstrong, chosen not from strength, but fear. What is soft enough to feel its true skin is not worthy of hatred, yet too close for friendship. It runs free from the challenges of wilderness, into roads, and through forest trails. When the night comes, it remembers the mellow colors of the night. The dark blues and gray sky rest the antlers from defense and the eyes take control. What can the antlers see of the beauty of the moon, it asks itself. Nothing, for the shine of the crescent over this world, can only be seen through the two eyes so little used. And as they look to the sky, the wonder of the day leaves from the comfort of the night’s beauty. Its hooves relax and it walks down the rough gravel roads, unaware of its placement in the world it must share.

The moon and the stars yell for it to admire them another day, in a different place. The moon yells the loudest, knowing he will not be the most beautiful in yet another creature’s heart. Loud grumbling nears the deer’s slow steps, and he turns to the sound of a halting screech. His eyes forget the gray shine that lit the sky so dimly, for the white of bliss meets him. The world is still, loud honking drowning in the embrace of the most encapsulating light to exist. Every sense had forgotten its purpose, but the stars knew their duty. As the moon turned in shame, they whispered into the deer’s ear.

“This light is beautiful now, but it controls. Does the moon halt you in your tracks, mocking the strength of your body’s choice? A soft beauty that is admirable is better than a strong one that is hypnotizing.”

The deer’s ego becomes bruised, and it walks off into the forest, wondering how it let an object control its movement. His antlers will forever lead after this day, but his eyes will not forget the bliss of the night. They will never lose hope that they will once again be showered in immediate bliss rather than constant mediocrity.

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Scout on Maturity/Broken Glass

  On the other side of the glass, I see the perfect version of myself. She walks with a skip in her step, and nothing about herself keeps her up at night or down in the morning. Everyone she knows loves her, and she finds a way to love them back. She has everything, she is everything, and her confidence is unwavering. The days behind the glass are long because they’re spent clawing at myself until I bleed. Why can’t you feel like them, love them like them, be loved like them? I hate when my reflection is too clear, when those eyes look as if they’ve rejected the idea of happiness. The glass breaks. At the shift of my image, I get angry with myself. You, in all your light and life and experience, sit here digging holes through yourself because you don’t fit a perfect mold? You sit here hating the color of your skin, your eyes, your hair, your body, your face, when you have everything to be grateful for? The wall shatters onto me, destroying the person that I ruthlessly despised, a...
Post a Comment
Read more

Scout on Disconnect/Letters

  I wrote you a letter, but you never responded. I guess I could summarize it here, but you might not be able to get the original sentiment. It’s more of the fact that I can’t remember exactly how I felt when I wrote it, or what I felt that entire year, to be honest. I know who was there and, most importantly, who wasn’t, and that I was absent, at least mentally. Sometimes I look back and wonder what would have happened if I weren’t me, if I did things like all the people around me, who everyone says are more reasonable and level-headed. The truth is that I’m sorry about how I treated you. You never deserved to be ignored or taken for granted, but I can’t say that you didn’t set it up for yourself. Watching those people trample you and waiting so long to leave, it was as if you thought you couldn’t do better. Maybe you couldn’t, and maybe you still can’t, but there has to be more out there. If you weren’t so angry and rash all the time, then- no, I didn’t mean that, not completely....
Post a Comment
Read more

Scout on Memories/In the Stars

  I wanted to write a story about you. That’s why I ran down to Chan’s Grocery so late at night; I needed to get one of those stupid drinks you love to try and trigger a memory. It was something you had said on one of the days we sat outside of the little shop, with its blinding lights hitting our backs in the dark street. I was always in the light when I was with you, inside and out. Anyway, that day we were laughing so hard that people thought we were drunk. You had spit out your drink so far that it practically hit a moving car, which made us laugh harder and stumble back into the store to buy more, much to the amusement of the teenage cashier. Well, I forgot what had made us laugh so hard, so I thought that sitting here and drinking that terrible sugary concoction might bring it back into my mind. The cashier is different, much older and more tired, so I hope I don’t have to hysterically repurchase anything. I’m not sure if time is messing with my head, but sitting here, the li...
Post a Comment
Read more