By Adam Balbale
I’m tearing through an old road on my bike, constantly adjusting my seat, leaving It behind me. There are misplaced bricks layered across the path in front of me. Skinny wooden giants are pouring light down upon me; still, my vision is cloudy. To my right, groups of teenagers on the sidewalk next to me: girls, guys, laughing, talking, judging. I put in my earbuds in an attempt to drown out the words that are constantly in my mind. I know I never will.
Why not me?
I shift up a gear. The people around me get blurry. I can still see their smiles. I move up a gear again. As fast as I go, however, It always comes back, always. The truth devours me. Reality devours me. I can’t change It. I look to my left, the side away from the heads, and stare into a beautiful garden. Different species, colors, ideas all come together, forming a wonderful orchestra of pleasantness. Thousands would be drawn in, but not me. Blankly I examine the house behind the foliage, understanding that the breathtaking decoration was just a front. The faster I pedal, the faster I think.
Beauty is hollow. It distracts you. It distracts everyone from what truly is; It is a distraction. It creates love, but never enough for everyone; It is unequal. Why is it that one flower can be cultivated, loved, and worshiped through time, yet its floral cousin is ripped from the garden? Beauty is exclusive; beauty creates separation; beauty creates loneliness. Emotionless separation is dangerous; beauty is dangerous. Distractions are dangerous; inequality is dangerous; It is dangerous.
SCREECH!
Black marks have been painted onto the weathered red bricks behind me. Not far in front lay a whole brick protruding from the road. I am a victim of Its distractions.
The big groups of people are far behind me now, leaving me with only fast, sharp inhalations of the cold air. The fast breaths hurt my lungs but I still continue the pace. My hands move down to my knees as I bend over. The populated town center, the one with distractions, beauty, danger, It, is left a little while away. Here, the houses are numbered, spread out. To my left is a windy path that leads to a wide clearing; dark, quiet, cozy. The cover of the trees protects the forest from the evil of It; the cover of the trees makes the forest safe. My panting urges me to walk through the path. Biking away from It makes me tired.
I enter the field.
Inside, cold white light seeps through the lanky trees towering over me. The beams reveal the dead yellow grass, originally hidden by the protection of the night; another beauty exposing a troll. The music blasting in my ears relays tales of love, distorting the wail that was somehow still creeping through. The themes seem so far, unreachable, untouchable… for me, at least. Almost as cold as my mood is the September air, which is passing right through the circle of forest around me. My teeth begin to chatter as my legs collapse. My face is red, my eyes are shimmering. It’s almost as if an ocean is forming, reflecting the strong sunlight right into my retina, burning me. The music changes. Maybe it’s representing my mood; maybe I am distorting the words to fit my heart. Still, the new notes only stoke the flame, or lack of one, in my heart.
“Alone
no use looking out
it’s within that brings that lonely feeling
understand that when you leave here
you’ll be clear among the better men.
Alone again.
Alone again.”
The words echo inside my head, bouncing off one wall after another. They gradually become louder and louder, eventually screaming. I tear the music out of my ears, allowing, finally, only one vocalization to be heard.
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