Scout E.S. in the Shadows

  Sit and wait. Sit still, sit quietly, sit obediently. Sit until you forget the feeling of your legs touching the ground. Until you forget the purpose of your misery. Until you forget why you listen to droning lessons. Why satisfy those undeserving? Why wait for the world to recognize you? Why wait to recognize the world? Stand and wait. Stand stiff, stand strong, stand uselessly. Stand because you have a duty to the world. A duty to the people without power. A duty to the land without strength. A duty to the government without purpose. Without you, they fall. Without you, they disappear. But until then, you shall sit.

“I’m not sure.” The words echoed in my mind well after they were spoken, free from the clutter that gave weight or value to my thoughts. I hadn’t heard the question, but I knew the answer was buried somewhere, shoved in a closet with my dirty clothes, begging to be remembered. My knowledge became dormant and stiff, stinking the conscience so easily drowned by a perfect appearance. “Are you listening to me? What’s the answer?” The curved lines of a surprisingly perfect drawing connected as I glanced up at the teacher. At least a dozen people were raising their hands, but she had chosen me. After all, one silent person is more significant than a thousand laughs to a comedian. The demand for perfection and absolute attention controls even those so far in their life and careers; I can’t dare be the one to question that impartiality. What is identity? the board read. How dare she ask a question she doesn’t have the answer for? I watch her pretend to be content every class, preten

  His absent eyes scanned the room, flinching at the soft lights of the lamps. The smell of expensive cologne draped a humorous blanket over the reek of alcohol and his disoriented demeanor. I watched him sit on the couch, familiar with the comfort of its sinking nature. “Is it cozy? The couch?” I asked quietly, avoiding his gaze. He nodded.   My father never drank or took drugs, but the weight of a 16-hour workday had a similar effect on his mental awareness. I would see his shadow on late nights when we both should have been asleep, and he would be waiting for my silhouette in the hallway. The outlandish stories that we both knew I didn’t believe were solace from the parallel lives we had in the day. We traveled in lines so similar but never overlapping, struggling on the same spectrum of different universes. “I was at the mine today, Lyra,” he would say under his breath. “Really?” I would whisper back with a slight giggle. I knew that collared shirts weren’t worn for

               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 plac

         Mercy wasn’t an emotion I enjoyed feeling. Why did others deserve something that was never given to me? But alas, I found myself making the same mistake as I had done years ago, allowing someone to live past the time they deserve. The morning rain came and washed the houses and the windows that I had stood in. New York’s showers gave me a sense that the blood spilled was gone, dripping away into the sewers, even for only a day. Yet this rainy day wouldn’t be bright as the others, and I would be as sour as all the other pedestrians trudging to their offices. Pools of contaminated water reflected my dry demeanor, the sidewalks questioning the shift of my attitude. I owe you nothing, I thought, as the cold puddles soaked my socks. Maybe they needed at least one person to appreciate their efforts, missing the gratitude of the forests and plants they shed sustenance on far away. The rain was the only thing that reminded city-dwellers of nature’s strength, and possibly God’s existen