Peace

My childhood room always terrified me. 

It’s white, blank walls waited to be covered in prophecies, yet they became mirrors. Loud voices that should have offered guidance reflected murmuring growls-even at night, when all doors closed. With no escape, sounds bounced off the illusion of sturdy walls, passing through my body again and again. The unflattering light of my bedside lamp transformed their cries into monsters, yanking me from sleep.

I wished for peace.

A entitlement erupted-the hole inside my growing torso pressured non-existence remorse into compensation. Even when I tried planting seeds, spending weeks irrigating saltwater rain-the space remained empty.

It became unbearable.

Thus, I opened my mouth and spat fire. Leaving the ground beneath me scorched by flaming waves that enveloped my body in the warm embrace I deserved. Anyone who dared to approach, met rebuttal.

“Would you plant crops in barren soil?”

Unfortunately once you reach adulthood, you realise dated routes lack divergence. Therefore I grew strong and turned soft.

When happiness couldn’t find me, I created it—a small marble, fed with light and reassurance until it ignited, consuming the Atmosphere. Self affirmed radiance blinded me, forgetting that goodness without intention is an act.

I tightened the skin over Plaster muscles fixing a still smile as promises leaked in between hidden cracks: I would never become my parents. But in truth, I continued to neglect an inner child who sat, knees drawn to her chest, forcibly drenched under hypocrisy.

She wished for peace.

Looking back, both approaches were flawed. Every decision became a sprint into extremism with the intent of normalcy. No matter how dark my childhood bedroom felt-I was growing. Yet once my eyes gained the capability of adjusting at night, granting me a chance to break free-I shut them in anger. Self-consumed by burning rage-a narcissist who glows-I was light. In reality I was a little girl sitting in a dark room, too scarred to open my eyes.

If I had just stood up and searched for the switch, I might have stumbled over memories or junk—I may have tripped. Reluctance starved my body of the ability of success. Decrepit hope trusted the thief’s integrity to return my stolen light. Why was I the one to correct their wrongdoings?

“Helena” a gentle voice sliced through dense air. Her body moved gracefully towards her friends side while deep, rhythmic breaths showcased an urgency in arrival. Naturally her hands, impacted by dominating frost outside found Helena's palm which already awaited her embrace. The maroon plastic chair creaked cheaply under the eager companion. Invaluable resonance firmed her vision as fixed pupils lowered her rushed heartbeat. 

“Im so sorry I'm late; I had to drop Dorothy off at kindergarten.”

Her cheeks blossomed into dimples, light pinks flushed by sympathetic temperatures. The woman's mature features captured a youthful radiance under the intensity of glaring light. Her cheekbone rested against a sterile metal railing, appreciating its cooling sensation against the rapid blood flow towards her face.

“She lost her first tooth last night,” eyes wondered while lips moved on their own, entranced by the immeasurable amount of love her body could store.

“She’s growing up so fast,” she added, facing her friend with a mixture of pride and wistfulness as nostalgia overruled her. Her head rested atop her forearm, the pressure bringing fullness to a heavy smile. The weight affected her vocal cords as a gentle tone rang coarse.  

“She cried for what felt like hours, but when I finally managed to coax her into opening those puffy little eyes of hers, she gasped in wonder at the tiny gap in her smile.”

Her smile grew wider, infused with the warmth of her recollection. However, joy failed to reach the corners of her eyes.

“You know what she said when I showed her the hole inside her gums,” the sweetness within her tone weakened alongside the ability to retain a honest smile.

“She-“ the women attempted but jerked away, providing more air for her needy lungs. Blonde strands created a safe space as she dropped her head. After a moment, a battle fought within revealed raw wounds that came out as words: “She said, ‘Mommy, look at how much space there is now for a stronger tooth to grow.’”

In stories, genies fulfil desires of childlike hearts who’s desperate lips spill well-intended greed. A greed, naïve to the core, yet pure -Washed clean by the need for change only a soul who’s been denied for centuries could muster.

Through these tales we bask in the fulfilment of the protagonists wishes. Closing our eyes as we separate ourselves from the moral of the story-for we are omnipotent. Our knowledge surpasses the characters error-the idea that arbitrary materialism grants ease. The story is not a lesson-it is enjoyment in which superiority loans luxury.

But in real life, there are no Three-wish-filled-lamps, no gaseous servants, nor fairness consultants. We live in bodies fuelled by the consumption of food, words, and emotions. We create our own destinies, and if we fail to build roads, we find ourselves stranded in the middle of nowhere, blaming the desert for its lack of infrastructure.

Life is made memorable by the success that is born of failure. Happiness is not a permanent condition—yet more of a treat and I was a little girl in a household filled with ingredients. A type two diabetic with virgin tastebuds addicted to processed sugars.

I wish I could feel guilty for my indifference upon witnessing my mothers paralysed stare as she knew I wouldn’t respond.

I wish I had the ability to taste the bitterness in my friends throat as tears choked her, fighting against the realisation her daughter would never get to know me.

I wish I still had wishes left to turn into goals instead of blaming everyone for running away as I adjusted my earplugs at the starting line, engulfed by gunpowder.

But there was no time for greed as my wish fulfilled. The upturned corners of my lips will accompany me towards the familiar darkness, where I will never have to lay another paver again. 

A young women dressed in monochrome white attire entered the room, a sympathetic aura distracted the upright posture structured by authority. Her gaze, searching blurry eyes as the room began to close in on the crowd. An elderly woman nodded with such finality that the rooms gravitational force increased, making everyones head lower in unison.

A fragile smile, almost imperceptible, lingered on the pallid skin of the women in the hospital bed. With deliberate slowness, the nurse placed her hand over the plug of a beeping machine—the last guard to a road ending in no mans land.

White knuckles slowly clasp around the cord, easing the visitors into letting go. Gently, she disconnected the life support, while silence swallowed the last remnants of artificial life.

“May you rest in peace,” she whispered, offering her goodbye to the stranger.