BE AFRAID

Carnations bloom in the spring. 

The red petals withered to my touch, stings of the cold forcing them to crumble. I remembered, in the third grade, for mother’s day, I’d picked a carnation from the park, the very best one I could find, from a patch of carmine that hurt my eyes from the brightness. My photophobia made me a difficult and complicated child, and my mom was always comforting me, accommodating me. When I was eight, I’d decided I’d finally get my mom something for mother’s day. It was an assignment for school– something I neglected to tell her. 

She’d loved it, and hugged me harder than ever before. I remembered melting in her arms, closing my eyes and sinking into her embrace. 

“Oh, sweetie,” she beamed. “Silas, sweetie. You didn’t have to.” 

“Do you like it?” I’d asked. 

“I love it.” She’d pulled away for a second, planted a kiss on my forehead, and hugged me hard again. “I love it.” She’d whispered, deep into my ear. 

I’d hugged her with my eyes closed for who knows how long, it felt like spring was over by the time we stopped. When I opened my eyes again, the dim lights in the kitchen struck me hard. I’d stepped back, closing my eyes again. 

I opened my eyes. It was a harsh January, heralded by an early winter which took the roofs off many houses in the area. I would’ve been worried for my poor old mother, but the storm took her sixteen years prior. If not for the lights, it would’ve taken me too. 

The chirps of silent birds hung like anvils in the air, and the smell of bitter, cold metal clawed at the inside of my nose. My ears caught a car every now and then, the rumbling of the machine and squeaking of the tires was hard to ignore. Bright lights attached to their forefront brought my attention to the tall pine trees that bowed to you as you walked by. Taking a stroll was the only thing you could do here, the attractions were uninteresting and the people were barely present. The only thing that caught my attention were the ethereally red carnation petals that blinked out of existence behind the falling snow. 

The firm concrete sidewalk gave way to hard, frozen grass, the smells of metal and noises of humming replaced by a woody, earthy scent and a coarse billowing of the wind. The petals had their own contribution, their own signature. I chased them, and they let me. The petals were part of the wind, which was blowing against me, delivering the packages to me. 

Their scent was ephemeral, I sought a whiff from each passing petal, collecting snippets until I recalled their savor. A twinge of spiciness, a hint of pepper, still betwixt floral patterns and grassy surroundings. The petals escorted me, encouraged my path, shepherded me with their aroma, teasing me with withered shreds that clung to my face, if only for a second. I believed them. They drove me away from the road, straight into the black mist that gathered around. They didn’t have an end, nor could each seem to live long, and when I stopped, they waited for me. 

They were patient, too. As the sun took its evening bath, cars with lights appeared more and more, always charging towards me. A truck’s high beams speared my eyes as it turned a corner, and I was left dazed. The petals simply kept falling.

My steps hobbled forward, curious to see when they ended. My coat swayed in the wind, which was picking up as the stars in the sky started to bloom. The wind was laced with frigid snowflakes, which cut across my arms and clothes, staining them with ice. The wind blew and blew, shifting but not changing my path. The wind blew harder, emptying its boundless lungs, and my eyes were forced to close once again. 

“Shhhhh….” The wind whispered in my ear. My eyes remained closed. 

What once felt like icy shards gave way to softer and softer sensations until the wind was an ocean, and I was a stubborn jellyfish. Whispering turned to shouting, but the wind drowned it out. Forward I pressed. 

Drowned shouts turned to screaming and screaming to laughing and laughing to singing. A song I didn’t know, yet felt welcome in my heart. Forward I pressed. 

My mom told me when I was young that life would be bad. She’d always tell me how it didn’t matter how much people told me that I was brave, or that I was special, or that how much they would support me, and that even if it was true, life would still be terrible. And it didn’t matter how much other kids called me names, or made jokes about me, or flickered a flashlight in my eyes, that life is always bad. 

I’d always wondered where she was going with her lesson, what the moral of the story was, if there was a happy ending to what she was telling me. Whenever I’d ask, she’d simply respond: 

“Silas, I,” She would smile a little. “I’m not you. I can’t know how bad you have it, I never will. Nobody ever will.” 

“Mom,” I would always frown. 

“SIlas.” She would hold both my hands. “Be strong. Be perseverant. Most of all, be fearful.” 

I never knew what she meant, so I would always ask her. She would seem hesitant to elaborate. But the day I gave her that carnation, she spoke. 

“Fear is the lack of peace. And peace is the enemy of safety.” She held me close. “And you will never. Never be safe.” 

That was the first and last time I saw her cry. 

Soon, the verbatim evolved into something more, something raw. I felt tempted to open my eyes, but forward I pressed. A mistake. 

Screaming. Piercing screams. 

Forward I pressed. I tried to remember something to distract myself, using the empty canvas on my eyelids to distract myself. I am afraid, I told myself. I’m afraid. I’m afraid. The air grew tense and it became harder and harder not to hear the screaming. It drowned out everything, I couldn’t feel my legs, my soul, I couldn’t smell the carnations anymore. Nausea encroached from every direction, a throbbing headache drunkenly danced its way into my mind. The droning went and and on and on and– 

The thought crushed my skull, it felt like I was staring into the sun. I collapsed onto the lush, wet floor. Realization set in. The screams were my own. 

I touched my mouth, knowing it was sealed like I didn’t even have one. I stumbled off the ground, dizzy and disorientated, stared at myself for a thousand moments, and took off. I ran towards the singing, not away from the screaming. The singing was calm, the singing was welcome, the singing was warm. The singing was comforting. The petals were gone now, and I

could see the sun set a hundred times a day. I ran and ran until I hit something, sending myself tumbling into a grass field. I heard chains in the distance. 

My eyes were barred shut, I didn’t want to open them. 

“I am afraid.” I whispered, half to myself. I tried to stand up, but as I knelt my arms were chained to the floor. “I- I- I’m… I’m afraid.” 

BE NOT AFRAID. 

Eyes still shut, I could see the overwhelming light still unrevealed. I wanted to open them. But I was scared. 

BE NOT AFRAID. 

I felt a gentle touch on my forehead. A thick, warm liquid ran down it, cascading down my whole face. Red, darker than the petals, darker than the flashing lights even. “I’m a-afraid.” I tasted the liquid. Metallic. 

A thousand memories escaped my mind, flowing down my face and dripping onto my legs. I tried to hold onto one, just one, I just needed one. I felt a petal hit my face, fresh and sumptuous. 

2011. I can’t see, I can’t breathe. I need help. I need. 
2012. Everything is gone. They’re taking me, and I’m letting them. 
2013. I see a rope, I see Mom. She’s smiling at me, telling me how proud she is of me. She tells me to remember. Then I see her switch the lights on. Why? I can’t see. I can’t see anything. I squirm for ten minutes, crying. Then I see nothing. 
2014. Red carnations, deep in a hole nearly twice my height. I throw in an orchid. They bury everything I had. 
2015. They don’t know anything. They think I’m dramatic, everytime they turn the lights on. They tell me to calm down. 
2016. They want to return me. 
2017. I thought he was my friend. He just wanted to see my eyes in the light. 2011. They grabbed me, they dragged me outside. I let them. They pried open my eyes and made me burn. 

BE NOT AFRAID. 

I opened my eyes. Six wings pure as driven snow, the innocent face, the reluctant smile. I knew I’d been dreaming this whole time. And now, the storm had come for me. I’d been using it for too long.