Scout E.S. in the Shadows

  The office was the only place that sunlight didn’t reach. On fall afternoons, when I sit in cold corners on stiff chairs, I forget the warmth of the Sun. The familiar face seated across from me was more fixed than the contents of the room, never influenced by the inhabitants of its environment. I enjoyed it; it was comforting for something in my life to stay constant when nothing else ever could. Yet today, I wanted something different. I wanted something better . The feeling of speaking without concern or return had become a burden, not a privilege. Today I wanted to be understood rather than heard. The forms of these walls could no longer contain what my heart and mind released from the restraints of my fragile frame. Complaints, grievances, and anything else worth mentioning were spoken, yelled, and expressed. The face would listen, would care, but not feel. Feelings must be shown; feeling twists the face in every direction, fighting its own urges for self-expression. I called o

           I tried this time. At least I can say that, confidently. And yet I reach no consensus on who I want to become. It seems the fairer I am to myself, the fewer people I have around me. Again, I ask myself, what have I done wrong? What do the ripples in my reflection mean? It must be me; if everyone around me leaves, it can’t always be them. Maybe my breath secretes something poisonous. Maybe my voice explodes eardrums. Or maybe I am just so insufferable that my presence itself is suffocating.             But then I remember all the times I stood by them, in hell and heaven. I remember feeling their suffering, and always being concerned for their well-being. So, I cut my heart out to save them, but I found that they never needed it in the first place. I am the fool for not being sure; what with the fact that they never had one. I clean their wounds and stitch them up, and once they are well enough they fly away back to those that can give them a laugh.             I disappea