The years weighed heavily on the shoulders of Little Voice. Where once she had felt a lightness of being, she now only felt disappointment and regret. She had allowed herself to let go of imagination and been swallowed up in the clutches of a bleak reality. Her life was empty. She was empty.
As she sat alone in a dismal excuse for a cafe, she stirred her coffee one more time. It wouldn't remove the bitterness from either the taste of the coffee, or her mood, but she kept on stirring nonetheless. Depression had her in its tight grip and was suffocating her slowly.
She didn't notice the mother and daughter enter the cafe. She only vaguely noticed them as they sat down at a table just in front of her. Her thoughts, for what they were worth, had her captivated so that the outside world only marginally got through the barrier they had erected. However, the ripple of laughter that came from the young child as a milkshake was brought to her table, made Little Voice look up from her coffee for a moment.
At that instant, the child caught her eye and beamed at her. The purity of the child's smile and the squeal of delight that escaped her sent a jolt through Little Voice that shattered all despondency in a heartbeat. In an instant, Little Voice felt something visceral. She felt joy.
The emotion did not last long and she knew it wasn't entirely her own but it was enough. It was enough to make her leave the cafe and quickly return home. It was enough to make her extend her hand towards her long-forgotten creativity and allow herself to submerge once more inside herself. This time though, she steered clear of the darkness, which had been all-consuming, and instead, she opened a door within that shouted colour.
She was amazed by the vibrancy that now attacked her senses as she found herself in front of her easel with a blank canvas staring at her. She closed her eyes and instantly the child's smile beamed at her again. Within minutes, her brushes began to sing a new life onto the canvas. Hours passed unnoticed as Little Voice once more found herself back in the embrace of her imagination. Her very own sanctuary.
It had been hard to dredge up the quality and the passion that once had been so easy for her. She had felt each sting of criticism as hard as any physical punch, and layer by layer she had allowed those blows to cover her heart. It was painful. Too painful. She had believed that her creativity had left her. Or, if she was honest, she knew there was just the merest bit of magic left. But, like a dragon treasures his pile of gold, she had kept it tucked inside herself. Greedy and hoarding, she'd locked it away never to be given away freely again.
Until that is, she felt the purity of a young child's smile. She had given in and allowed darkness to descend upon her life but the innocence of joy had woken her from her waking nightmare and suddenly, there were no hard decisions for her. Even though she knew that the small amount of creativity that she held inside was not going to make much of a difference to anyone but her, she had to release it.
It had to be spoken. She crawled outside of her shell. She was going to take another shot and see where her arrow landed. She hoped that it would fly true; that her little voice would be heard. But, even though she could not see into the future, and her memories were where her scars lived, she had to move forward. Step into the unknown and let her creativity fly. That's all she could do. It was who she was. All she was. Without this, what would be the point anyway? Without that tiny spark inside her, there would be no hope, there would be no point.
As she stepped outside, she once again saw the eyes of hatred upon her. She felt her fear spark up again. It itched. Over her whole body, she felt a searing pain that could not be extinguished. This was it.
And that was when she heard someone cry out a name, "Esmeralda!" and she knew that voice. It was like music to her ears. She looked up but the dark clouds of oppression were all she could see at first. The voice, albeit little broke through the clouds, and shouted one more time. She knew the direction she must run in. And run she did. She would no longer crawl on her hands and knees, no longer remain in the dark, she would escape time and BE herself. Now she knew, she would always have her sanctuary.
Photo by Nicole Geri on Unsplash