THE MIST FROM the lake swirled all around me, giving the painting that water-blessed effect. My heart struggled to find the strokes that would speak what I was always afraid to myself. I yearned to believe in the power of change, but my heart never failed in pulling me back to reality.


The strokes seemed harder each second. My hands felt like heavy stones, seeming to get heavier and heavier. Until I could actually imagine finding marks on my wrist from chains rubbing against them. Pain ran up my arms, but I ignored it. Steadily holding my fragile brush up to its confident easel. When touched to, it brought me strength. Strength to bear what I had to deal with everyday of my life. It carried to me, an overwhelming feeling of power. Without it, I wasn’t sure where I would be.


Noises started without warning. Sounds of…could it be the feather-creatures that lived in the lake? The ones who dared not come out when I came about? Could it be, or was I simply in another dream?


First, they started out as faint thoughts. Thoughts of my own, maybe, or someone else’s? Who’s to say? They just weren’t real to begin with, that was the one thing I could think of as truth.


Soon, though, they developed into ideas. Into something more than they had been before. They bloomed, and spread like wings. They were ready to soar into the darkness and beyond.


Escape. Was that really the next step? Had I guessed right this time? Could they get away from here into something farther? I found out I could not. My wings were broken, un-healable. Some say time can mend, but I say nothing can be caressed once damaged. It was an oxymoron, and to me, it seemed impossible.


Lines formed from the air. They hung like droplets of tears to scarlet, tattered, paper. Writing material so brilliant, that only the bravest could shine through. They did very much resemble sorrow, a wound of the spirit. They collided with one another and made puddles along the shore. Yes, rain. It was rain indeed.


Basking in happiness for this travesty would’ve been wrong. I longed to, still. I missed being loved by the horizon. I missed the feeling of wetness on my cheeks, besides the water that frequently came from inside of me. I remember enjoying the warmth that fell from the sky on cloudy days such as these.


I carefully stepped back to look at my single companion, my beloved art. This was what my life had come to. This was the one thing I had to rely on, evermore. Whether I died or not, so what? I was finished-


It was finished.

A lovely fair-skinned girl stood up to her knees in lake-water. Fog hugged her and smuggled her into its awaiting arms. The invisible breeze sent her kisses, each landing with a sigh onto her unblushing, cheeks.

But, could it be? Whispering echoes pierced the blackness of the sky. If it was really a voice, I was sure it would’ve sounded like a scream mixed with silence as thick as the emotions that now attacked me.

The light impaired my vision completely. I covered my eyes, but nothing helped. I wasn’t sure if it was all that bright, or if it was just me-the girl who had become used to so many shadows.

My body began to feel light, and free. At earliest, this felt less than secure, but soon, I let it take me. I went with the sunlight, watching as the gentle glow ran its fingers through my hair. It called my name, it begged me to come and join its brothers and sisters of the heavens.

I reached out my scarred hand, as I did; I heard something drop to the ground. My paintbrush now sat at the sandy shore. But I didn’t care, I was going home. Home, where I had people to sing to me, and care for me.

The radiance carried me higher, until I was nothing but a memory. I had found my wings, this time.

While my last painting sat on the shore, cradling the end of my troubles.