Questions | Teen Ink

Questions

August 14, 2008
By ZenGirl SILVER, Taber, Alta, Other
ZenGirl SILVER, Taber, Alta, Other
5 articles 0 photos 13 comments

What am I?

The question forms and I feel skin tighten around my face at the confusion. My brain begins whirling like some grand new machine, eager to please. I blink at the strange light, a soft blue peeks into my eyes.

Where am I?

I know many things, i feel them stored in my mind, but I cannot answer this question either, it is blocked from me. Instead I sit up, little green fragments of grass biting into my pale skin, even through the sheer material of my dress.

How do I know these words? Grass and dress. Machine. I have no memories that I can recall, but I know I have never come across these things before.

I feel my eyes widen as I begin to look around, first at my pale, pale hands. I turn them over and bring them close to my face, inspect the perfect half-moons of my nails. I feel my face with these hands, and my hair. I am soft.

A chirp of joy brings me to attention, I easily pinpoint the source. A little bird, yellow and black and brown. Even from down here, half sitting in the dewy green grass, I can see in sharp detail its colours, feathers and beak. I can see its eyes as it eyeballs me from its perch for a moment, then it takes flight. I feel myself smile.

Trees are all around me, but not so much that I can't see through them or that the green grass does not grow beneath them. There is a small stone path.

I stand up easily, smoothly, as if my joints were all well oiled. Nothing hurts, I note vaguely. I look down at myself for a brief minute, the white material clings to my pale, thin frame. I look like a ghost.

What is a ghost?

Perhaps there is someone at the end of this path who can explain things. I step onto it as if I am gliding; the stone feels smooth and cold under my bare feet. The birdds twitter above, talking to each other of the morning. I breathe in deeply and enjoy the fresh scent of the air, it smells like rain.

I don't bother to ask what rain is this time.

Slowly, I begin to walk forward. My limbs move as if this is all they have ever known and my mind has names for everything I see: ant, worm, weed, dandelion. i wonder, is there a word for me?



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