An Extraordinary Soul
Life is a culprit.
It grants ease and acceptance to many, yet hardships and rejection to the rest. Many are prideful fraudsters, with life nourishing them and by their side. The rest are underprivileged victims under life’s orders and wishes.
Vivian is a victim.
At least that is what she thought.
Vivian blamed life for her standing in this world. She despised individuals who life took in as favorites, people who were nothing but cruel to her, or ruthless to what life made her represent.
Life threw Vivian into this world as rubbish, perhaps, the left-over scrap when beauty ran out. Life thought of himself as charitable; he gave Vivian what ‘the end’ had infinite shelves of. She is what people feared, what people avoided, and what people came unprepared for.
Vivian is death.
She’s a victim, the most innocent victim her luck made her ponder life darkly. Life, clearly, shared the same hateful opinions toward her. Making his fraudsters call her nothing but ‘ill-fated’, ‘cursed’, and countless more. Yet only one stood out.
A regret.
Regret is a terrible thing to deal with, let alone being one to others. It latches on to you for a while, then leaves you. Only for its follower, guilt, to crash onto you with the intention of drowning you.
The most atrocious doing guilt could do is the feeling it lets linger within you, that little ache in your heart that withholds a huge starving monster. The monster, not having one ounce of mercy, slowly engulfs, and devours your poor soul into darkness. Not to mention, it’s love towards you. Guilt always seems to find its own path to your heart, despite wherever it calls home being visible or out of sight. It’s just there for you when no one is.
Gradually, it starts replacing you. Being around your kind bothers you, talking is sickening, the world has no value, and you despise breathing.
The day life tossed Vivian into this world was looked upon as a bad omen. She grew up in a town where peace was its charm, now it was just terror; citizens could not wait to leave. News and tales were told about Vivian, people claim her day of birth is worse than the plague. Some even speculated that she was related to evil spirits, and some took her as a bad luck coin.
Vivian loathed her day of birth ever since; she cursed each and every second she lived. Life’s favorites made her feel as if guilt was her soulmate; there is always guilt in what Vivian sees, and there is always Vivian in what guilt seeks.
Oh, how Vivian enjoyed the company of guilt.
Her parents, who were supposedly good parental figures, were cast in her life. They feigned that Vivian was no misfortune, but when alone, they feared their daughter would cause them harm or be capable of ending whatever good they had. Over time, guilt wiped his lips and left. His departure numbed Vivian’s everything.
Death was unfeeling, after all.
The school bell rang, jerking her out of her thoughts. She grabbed her notebooks and placed them in her school bag, not bothering to spare a glance at anyone but the floor. She left the class and walked to the gates, everyone making space for her as they eyed her warily. Vivian paid them no mind; she is used to this treatment from the students here, let alone the teachers.
Vivian stepped outside, the sunlight embracing her with warmth, and the breeze pushing her white frail hair behind her ears. It's simple pleasures like these that make her feel alive, treating her fairly just like the others. Life may be cruel, but you cannot blame the other beings it trapped—their presence matters. The sun itself is an initial for the plants to make the oxygen we breathe in, and to discard the waste we breathe out. Vivian always liked the sun; it just served its purpose regardless. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply as she tried to take in the moment of somewhat contentment, knowing she was going to face her daily castigation at a place that she’s to refer to as ‘home’.
That is when life changed his mind.
She stumbled on a few pebbles, her sneakers fighting for stability. She could see the busy main road from here, just a few more sidewalks and she would reach ‘home’. Her eyes traced the solid grey pavement as she drew nearer. The area is usually empty, but to her surprise today, an old man stood with the support of his metallic stick, sunglasses veiling his eyes. Vivian tilted her head slightly to the left; she had never seen him before.
He stood still in place, waiting patiently for the walking light to turn green. Vivian was slouching opposite him, expecting a disgusted expression, or at least a snarky comment. But nothing but silence was exchanged in the air.
The sign turned green, breaking Vivian out of her thoughts. She shook her head and blinked a few times before walking towards the man. Anxiety ran through her veins, making her hand clutch into fists and lower her gaze to the cement ground.
She lifted her head after she passed the man, but she could feel an itch she couldn’t shrug off. Curiosity was raging at her at this point, to the point it made her chest ache a little. She turned to face the man, only to face his paused figure that remained unchanged. Her eyebrows furrowed; she wondered if he would ever just proceed.
She sighed and brought down her schoolbag, her sneakers squeaking, leading her to the man. The man did not even react, just stood patiently. Vivian was close to him now, she noticed how his index finger was tapping on the grey stick.
“Excuse me, sir? The light happens to be green; would you need assistance to cross the road?” Her voice came out raspy, she had not used it in so long. Her heart was beating fast, it could practically jump out of her ribcage if it wanted to.
The man did not make a single move. Although, his hand was now fully relaxed into his walking stick. Vivian noticed; she was not sure what action she should take. This is the first ever interaction she had with someone that did not show any disgust nor dislike to her, not even to her ‘curse’.
It is as if the man communicated with her, she felt this thirst inside her that is forcing her to help the man. Something was calling her name. She could not place her finger on what that was.
Before she could come to a decision, her arm raced to the old man’s arm, linking them together. She supported his weight and started leading him to the other side of the road. She felt an astray to her body, she saw her body support this man with no difficulty whatsoever.
The old man did not comply. He followed her guidance in silence, his lips stayed in a straight line.
Vivian had a lot of questions about this old soul, he looks quite content with wherever life takes him. She wondered if anybody passed him, or even offered help. She felt his knees shake a little while she guided him; he must have been standing here for a long time.
“Life does not owe you anything, it is that we owe life everything.” His voice was croaked, it came out in whispers; his voice box not even trying much.
She stood still, not expecting him to spit such words.
For what seemed like a long seven minutes, his hand dug into his thick brown coat, rummaging through it. His hand stilled for a few seconds before revealing itself, with a small piece of paper in its embrace.
The piece of paper neared her as if asking to be taken. She reached her hand and adopted the paper wordlessly; the man was fluent in silence.
He dismissed her, not before giving her a little nod. His stick guided him on his way as if this strange encounter did not happen at all.
Vivian’s eyes made their way toward the old man’s back, speechless.
It is now that she notices his curved figure, his light steps, and his shadow. The shadow was no ordinary thing, it looked like an adventurer of some kind. It looked stale from the escapades it, perhaps, he, undertook. His lanky posture was an outcome of all secrets he kept, orbs of his recollection of compelling quests finding shelter on his shoulders.
Life is peculiar.
Perhaps he was making a fool of himself sending this old soul in her way, thinking it would change something.
Vivian speed-walked down the street, her school bag bopping her back. She flew past all the stricken buildings that held tales behind their looks, those buildings longing for a hug from her. Exhausted trees greeted her, waving their branches contentedly; Vivian was their best friend.
Vivian climbed the brick wall into her room, impatient to embrace her bed and lay in its arms. She stared at the ceiling and sighed; her mind recoiling her string of thoughts.
“Life does not owe you anything, it is that we owe life everything.”
That weak, yet wise voice rang through her head. A shiver ran down her spine as her mind recalled what the man said, he must have guessed it.
No, he knew.
The way he spoke about it out of the blue, set her off; he possessed a strange aura that made her questions roll even longer. Not to mention, his shadow. His shadow spoke differently, he had a whole unusual demeanor.
She furrowed her eyebrows, trying to squeeze answers to her questions from her brain. She appeared like she was in the middle of an argument with the cracked ceiling.
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Dawn set the next morning; Vivian tugged herself out of the mattress’s warmth to get ready for another school day.
The last one too.
She hoped.
The streets addressed her once more while she sauntered by. Today was chilly; the sun was absent, the light long gone. That seemed to irritate Vivian a tad, but she brushed it off and continued on her path.
That is until she faced anonymity again.
Life is really preoccupied with her, it’s now bothersome to her.
He stood in the same spot right again, uncomplainingly waiting for a being to offer help.
That being is Vivian.
Only Vivian.
The cursed Vivian.
“Hello, sir. Do you need help again?” Vivian asked, not expecting a reply. The elderly man was motionless once more, this time, not wearing any sunglasses. Not hesitating, Vivian took hold of his weak arm and walked him to the other end of the road.
She took a liking to him. He appeared at ease, regardless of Vivian’s presence.
“The ocean shows beauty but masks its secrets deep. The sun shows us the spark of life yet is modest and compels beings from its guise.”
She laid her eyes on him, fascinated. His interpretation of the world is eye-opening, Vivian’s eyes sparkled with amazement. He took notice, his eyes crinkling back in return.
She stood dumbstruck by the beauty of the words that left his lips; how could a man be so astute? That is when she takes in his appearance.
He wore a rather large dark brown cloak, with a dusty round black hat. It is as if the man shredded his way out of a 1940s literature novel, he looked quite atypical.
He tipped his hat and walked past her, taking a turn to the left where the building swallowed him whole, leaving no trace. The man had stunned her, he transitioned to a whole new person in the blink of a night. He seemed to acknowledge her, not bothering to comment on her unfortunate fate.
Despite her being shaken by this old man’s encounter, an intriguing element was missing.
His shadow.
That made her feel uneasy; the man being shadowless and having a whole new demeanor did not fail to dazzle her. Nevertheless, his sensible words. He speaks of what her eyes hide, he speaks of what nature disguises, he speaks of what life made him understand; he was her change.
He had to be.
She left his company after he left her sight. Vivian was stunned by her tiny attachment to this old man; she never felt a feeling that befriended contentment this close. With this new feeling came a little protectiveness inkling in her heart. She felt connected to him in some way, her end of the string pulling her towards him, asking him for more of what life hid from her.
She sat at her desk, inattentive to what knowledge she was offered at school; it never is what teachers claimed it to be, ‘useful for your life’. She found her thoughts coiling over when she could meet him again, to the spot; a place where a small part of her believes everything could change. But an observation she made kept nagging her mind onto it, begging for attention.
His missing shadow.
His secretive missing shadow.
She was completely sure she saw him behind the old man when they first met, but he disappeared without a trace. Vivian wondered what made a daily occurrence disappear that breaks one of life’s stable rules; It is very suspicious.
“Miss Vivian, I would like you to focus on today’s topic.”
Vivian’s eyes widened at the teacher’s call; she was never to be addressed. Her breath was stuck in her throat as her eyes stared hard at her notebook. She slowly lifted her head to maintain eye contact with her history teacher, only to see thirty other pairs meeting her line of sight.
She gulped; her eyes trailed everywhere but the beings in the room. She nodded at the teacher and completed her work silently. Her pen shook, the ink leaking out into messy scribbles. Vivian was startled at this new encounter, her body trembling slightly.
She left the class with her arms wrapping around each other, unused to the attention it received. Her head pointed downwards while her legs grew in pace, pleading for an exit. She rushed to the gates and escaped but was pestered by the sun’s absence.
She sighed and completed her journey back ‘home’, attempting to distract herself from her unusual encounter. She rubbed her hands for warmth, the dense air creeping its way to her body. Then, a thought struck her.
The man.
The shadow.
Vivian hurried in her pace, her little attachment to the wise man taking over. Nature barely took notice of her; they seemed rather dull today. Vivian furrowed her eyebrows whilst she greeted them, the trees slumping in return.
Vivian came to a halt, bewildered at the scene in front of her. She was awaiting for the old man and his shadow to meet her, only to be reunited with nothing. A feeling of despair engulfed her, enough to shatter her heart completely.
She looked around and behind the buildings, eager to find him and hear what he had to say. She dropped her school bag and practically ran around their ‘spot’, even using her voice to call him out. Only to hear her echo back.
She is alone.
Lonely Vivian.
Her breaths started racing, both the expansion and the contraction of her lungs fighting for the lead. She pulled herself down to the cold concrete. Her hand guided its way over her chest, shielding her heart from further damage. As her hand moved to shield her cracked heart, a faint rustle was heard in her left coat pocket. Before she could brush it off, she remembered.
The paper.
She hurried to her pocket, keen for answers. Her hands shaking doing so, afraid of what is yet to come.
She took a sharp exhale as the little paper came into view, feeling her chest sting. She unsteadily opened the folded paper, her sniffs echoing the empty road.
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Life, certainly, made us victims. However, each and every victim has the potential to prove not; yet none perseveres to live for it. I was your epiphany, and you were mine.
Theodore Locke D-203
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A dark cloud swarmed her whole, grief awaiting to meet her. Her quickened as her eyes welled up with tears. Slowly, her tear drops sacrificed themselves onto the paper, having no choice. The paper, unhurriedly clasping them into its embrace, saving them from hugging the hard ground.
Vivian’s lips quivered, inexperienced at the loss of a person she grew attached to in so little time. A person who greeted her with nothing but respect, a person that talked to her when none other did, a person who made her feel different.
A person who made her feel what is like to be alive.
Greif swallowed her soul, allowing her feelings to pour over. A sound so frail escaped her lips, acting as an evocative symphony to all nature. Her heart-wrenching lament fled her voice box. A sound so mournful, even the trees she once knew sulked further in sorrow.
She forced her eyes into the paper, focused on his name, and the code beside it. It is now that she notices something that pushes her to wail out loud. The code was not any code.
It was his grave code.
Her head threw itself back, welcoming all feelings of blue sadness to consume her. Rivers freely flowed, soaking her face of dry lands. Her voice, was so hoarse, emitting a piercing scream at the world.
She knows.
She knows of the shadow’s vanishment.
Life was not fair.
And the man understood that, understood her.
But he fought against it.
And she retreated.
She was her own victim.
The reality hit her deep, quietening her wails into sniffs. She had been a host to suffering and misery, approving of their presence in her life with no invitations. She was the archer, and her fragile heart was the bull’s eye all along. Her fingers kneaded into themselves as she tried to grasp her next step.
“…I was your epiphany, and you were mine.”
These words resonated in her empty core, insistent on what the man entailed. His words lingered in her body; way too stubborn to depart.
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That evening, Vivian stayed in her room. She unveiled her fractured weak mirror, not necessarily comfortable with its existence in her shelter.
The mirror always displayed a wrinkly, vapid, and snow-haired being. Vivian hated that reflection, blaming life for it all this time. She gulped, not ready to face her despondent self. She could feel fear through her veins, hesitating to inch forward for a look. But she pushed herself, nevertheless.
She would not let her epiphany’s departure be in vain.
She had to change.
She let out a gasp, astounded at what met her eyes. A soul, so youthful, and sparkled with energy stared back. Her eyes trailed her features; her natural brown hair was tied back, little hairs escaping, framing her face shape flawlessly. Her skin was so clear that streams ran with so little difficulty, hydrating and shining her face. And her eyes, her eyes glowed with nothing but flames of purity, yet emitted waterfalls when witnessed its splendor.
This is Vivian.
This has always been Vivian.
The reflection continued tearing up, realizing how a simple fix like adjusting her aim, would have changed her world a long time ago. However, Vivian was focused on aiming at the wrong target all these years.
She was not death, but life throughout.
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Note:
- This is my work. Therefore, I have a condition regarding my writing. I would like to declare that my work is for the competition only. Meaning, I would dislike and feel uncomfortable if taken into intellectual purposes such as short films, movies, whatever media, etc. I would be uncomfortable if my work was used without my permission for future projects, I would like it if I was well-informed and asked about granting permission beforehand.
Thanks for reading !
- F.M.Alhashmi
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