no more looking out, i'm looking in
There is a sea in the sky tonight, she thought, watching the clouds curl over the moon.
"What is the sky but the constant reflection of the sea?" came a voice from the darkness. The girl jumped and looked around, finding only darkness and the gentle sway of her grandmother's sunflowers in the distance.
"Hello?" she whispered, voice cracking, hands shaking.
Nothing.
I... It's my imagination again, she thought, pressing her hands down on the cold, damp earth to ease their shaking. There's no one here.
"Of course there is," came the voice again, clearer than the words echoing in her head. The girl felt movement next to her hand and pulled it back instinctively, jumping to her feet as her heart raced painfully in her chest.
Still, she found nobody as she looked around.
"Did it occur to you," the voice said somewhat lazily, "To look somewhere other than up?"
Looking down, she found a hare sitting where her hand had been moments ago. The panic that had constricted her breathing gave way to confusion. Her first thought was that she had finally gone crazy.
"You're not crazy," the voice, which she presumed was issuing from the hare said, "You're just-"
The girl cut him off. "Then I'm dreaming," she whispered, mostly to herself. She looked back at her house and, though she was rather far away, expected to see herself fast asleep under the billowing curtains of her window.
The hare looked up at her, blinking slowly. Shaken, she sat down, although she kept some distance between the hare and herself.
"Animals don't talk," she said, looking at the clouds that continued to wash over the moon. The hare looked at her as though he agreed. "I talk to my cat," she continued, "And like to think she talks back but I know full well she doesn't." The hare did not look surprised. "At least not with a voice," the girl added as an afterthought. She sighed and thought to herself, I used to believe she could talk to me, though.
"Why would you stop believing?" the hare asked. The girl jumped again. The hare had been so quiet as she had rambled on that she had hoped he would stop talking and she could chalk it up to the wind.
"Because," she said indignantly, "That's silly and childish. Animals can't talk no more than... than that rosebush can sing!" She looked over at the rosebush as she said this, half-afraid that it would begin to sing just to spite her.
"Well, if you don't believe it can sing, then why are you afraid it will start just to spite you?"
She looked down at the hare, a chill prickling down her scalp and into her spine. "Are you reading my mind?" she asked. The hare said nothing. Are you? she wondered.
"Perhaps you're reading mine. After all, animals can't talk." There was a hint of humor in the hare's voice.
"I can't read minds. If I could I'd have..." she trailed off, her eyes suddenly shimmering in the faint moonlight. If the hare found her amusing, he wiped it off his face and looked up at her with a concerned sort of pity. As she wiped her eyes, she found it completely insane that she thought there was any sort of emotion on the furry face of a hare.
"Of course I care," said the hare, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice thick and slightly tempered. The hare shifted in the long grass but did not answer.
"Why-" she started to ask, but paused. Her eyes connected to something distant and unseen. The hare looked up at her with a shadow of pride on his face, waiting for her answer.
Why are you here? she wondered.
"You asked for me." he answered simply. As if to prove this as the truth, a star tumbled out of the sky and disappeared behind the trembling sunflowers.
When? she asked.
The hare looked at the sunflowers, trying to figure out what she meant. A light began to glow where the star had fallen. The girl understood.
I mean, when did I ask? I don't understand.
"When you saw the mirror."
She looked over where the starlight was beginning to burn brighter. A tear formed behind her eyes again but this time, she did not attempt to wipe it away. It fell from her face and landed on the soft ground as the star illuminated night as day. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that no one could see this.
"That's right," the hare said softly, "Only you."
Why? she asked. The light seemed to melt inside her and began to dissolve the pain that ached inside her heart. The tears continued to form, continued to chase one another down her cheeks, hot against cold.
The hare looked to the tears, then to the sunflowers. "I can't tell you, exactly, only you know that." She looked at her dirty hands. "You are different, though." The hare added, sensing her distress. "Only someone very special could have seen it."
I don't want to be dreaming, she thought, closing her eyes tightly, the last of the tears breaking free and dropping silently from her chin.
The hare struggled with something and then, upon seeing her opened eyes said "There's more to life than waking and dreaming."
The girl nodded, understanding completely. From where she sat, between the reflection of a distant tide and the flickering light of a fallen star, she saw the space in between, something often distant and unseen.
"What is the sky but the constant reflection of the sea?" came a voice from the darkness. The girl jumped and looked around, finding only darkness and the gentle sway of her grandmother's sunflowers in the distance.
"Hello?" she whispered, voice cracking, hands shaking.
Nothing.
I... It's my imagination again, she thought, pressing her hands down on the cold, damp earth to ease their shaking. There's no one here.
"Of course there is," came the voice again, clearer than the words echoing in her head. The girl felt movement next to her hand and pulled it back instinctively, jumping to her feet as her heart raced painfully in her chest.
Still, she found nobody as she looked around.
"Did it occur to you," the voice said somewhat lazily, "To look somewhere other than up?"
Looking down, she found a hare sitting where her hand had been moments ago. The panic that had constricted her breathing gave way to confusion. Her first thought was that she had finally gone crazy.
"You're not crazy," the voice, which she presumed was issuing from the hare said, "You're just-"
The girl cut him off. "Then I'm dreaming," she whispered, mostly to herself. She looked back at her house and, though she was rather far away, expected to see herself fast asleep under the billowing curtains of her window.
The hare looked up at her, blinking slowly. Shaken, she sat down, although she kept some distance between the hare and herself.
"Animals don't talk," she said, looking at the clouds that continued to wash over the moon. The hare looked at her as though he agreed. "I talk to my cat," she continued, "And like to think she talks back but I know full well she doesn't." The hare did not look surprised. "At least not with a voice," the girl added as an afterthought. She sighed and thought to herself, I used to believe she could talk to me, though.
"Why would you stop believing?" the hare asked. The girl jumped again. The hare had been so quiet as she had rambled on that she had hoped he would stop talking and she could chalk it up to the wind.
"Because," she said indignantly, "That's silly and childish. Animals can't talk no more than... than that rosebush can sing!" She looked over at the rosebush as she said this, half-afraid that it would begin to sing just to spite her.
"Well, if you don't believe it can sing, then why are you afraid it will start just to spite you?"
She looked down at the hare, a chill prickling down her scalp and into her spine. "Are you reading my mind?" she asked. The hare said nothing. Are you? she wondered.
"Perhaps you're reading mine. After all, animals can't talk." There was a hint of humor in the hare's voice.
"I can't read minds. If I could I'd have..." she trailed off, her eyes suddenly shimmering in the faint moonlight. If the hare found her amusing, he wiped it off his face and looked up at her with a concerned sort of pity. As she wiped her eyes, she found it completely insane that she thought there was any sort of emotion on the furry face of a hare.
"Of course I care," said the hare, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice thick and slightly tempered. The hare shifted in the long grass but did not answer.
"Why-" she started to ask, but paused. Her eyes connected to something distant and unseen. The hare looked up at her with a shadow of pride on his face, waiting for her answer.
Why are you here? she wondered.
"You asked for me." he answered simply. As if to prove this as the truth, a star tumbled out of the sky and disappeared behind the trembling sunflowers.
When? she asked.
The hare looked at the sunflowers, trying to figure out what she meant. A light began to glow where the star had fallen. The girl understood.
I mean, when did I ask? I don't understand.
"When you saw the mirror."
She looked over where the starlight was beginning to burn brighter. A tear formed behind her eyes again but this time, she did not attempt to wipe it away. It fell from her face and landed on the soft ground as the star illuminated night as day. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that no one could see this.
"That's right," the hare said softly, "Only you."
Why? she asked. The light seemed to melt inside her and began to dissolve the pain that ached inside her heart. The tears continued to form, continued to chase one another down her cheeks, hot against cold.
The hare looked to the tears, then to the sunflowers. "I can't tell you, exactly, only you know that." She looked at her dirty hands. "You are different, though." The hare added, sensing her distress. "Only someone very special could have seen it."
I don't want to be dreaming, she thought, closing her eyes tightly, the last of the tears breaking free and dropping silently from her chin.
The hare struggled with something and then, upon seeing her opened eyes said "There's more to life than waking and dreaming."
The girl nodded, understanding completely. From where she sat, between the reflection of a distant tide and the flickering light of a fallen star, she saw the space in between, something often distant and unseen.