the parable of the cave
There was once a girl who lived in a cave. Her parents had left her there when she was young- two or three, far too young to understand everything going on around her, far too young to do anything but watch the movements that slipped by the corners of her vision. Not too young, though, to have learned some things. Colors, sounds, what a smile means, and... how much a frown can hurt. That crying got her whatever she wanted. She lost all of those things, when her parents put her in the cave- they were only trying to protect her, but she couldn't know that, a two-year-old doesn't know what danger means- and at first, she'd always ask, tug on her mum's sleeve, want to see the sun and shit like that. Crying, always crying. But sooner or later, she forgot. Learned to live in the shadows, learned to listen to the echoes in the cave, her own keeping her company, and when that happened, the questions died too. She didn't make friends with the bats or anything like that, they were too loud and bothersome, and they shit over all of her things, and she knew that the caves were the bats' home first besides, that they'd never leave, and, well, little girls don't like not being in control.
The girl had a brother, too. He didn't get put in the cave, didn't want to go, and was angry at the parents for having put his sister there. So he'd visit her every day, sometimes with a flashlight or something, and try to remind her what light was like and the sun, and come back smelling of sun on his skin, and the little girl looked forward to these days because they called to that part of her heart that couldn't forget, that felt the memory in the very muscle. He came by every day, but then he was gone too, and the girl cried a little, but even she knew that her brother never fit in the cave. It never suited him. She loved the dark, besides. It was safe, and nothing could touch her, though sometimes the echoes in the cave didn't sound much like her and when that happened, she couldn't help but cry a little, you know. It wasn't easy, being a little girl and overcoming her own fears.
But then one day. One day, it was like her brother came back, only not really. The new boy wasn't really her brother, but he smelled of sun too, and he told her of things that she couldn't even imagine, living in the caves and just getting to know all the different kinds of rocks and shit. Told her about birds and the ocean, and of cake and ice cream, and all she saw when he talked were colors, but even the colors were enough that she fell in love with him, completely. And she let him take her out of the caves at last.
The sun blinded her.
---
As she rips paper in her small corner deep in the caves, it's this story that Effy recounts time and time again, her whispers mixing with the noise and traveling into deeper recesses, lifeless to the eye. It's been less than a week since she's properly seen the sun or chanced anything more than dancing under the stars, the stars that are rather inconsistent anyway, much like her. Sometimes dipping behind clouds, and other times outshining the moon. A week further from people, and Effy finds herself a week closer to death, shadows forming under her cheeks, although Jason's done his best to fend them off, forcing her to eat, watching over her in sleep. Sometimes, at least. Even now, even after Effy Stonem first caught his attention and was told, with a slight smile, of just how low things had been once for the boy, she doesn't dare hope that anyone will stay. It'd be inconvenient if they did. Make the passage that much harder.
She stands, and it's with a smear of dirt (it almost looks blue in this light) mixed with water that she presses more to her wall. Blind man. Consumption. A painting of a monster behind closed doors.
It's not quite near completion yet, but still Effy stares at the picture that's starting to form, and from between the words and behind the pictures, she thinks she sees death smiling at her, waiting with bated breath.
The girl had a brother, too. He didn't get put in the cave, didn't want to go, and was angry at the parents for having put his sister there. So he'd visit her every day, sometimes with a flashlight or something, and try to remind her what light was like and the sun, and come back smelling of sun on his skin, and the little girl looked forward to these days because they called to that part of her heart that couldn't forget, that felt the memory in the very muscle. He came by every day, but then he was gone too, and the girl cried a little, but even she knew that her brother never fit in the cave. It never suited him. She loved the dark, besides. It was safe, and nothing could touch her, though sometimes the echoes in the cave didn't sound much like her and when that happened, she couldn't help but cry a little, you know. It wasn't easy, being a little girl and overcoming her own fears.
But then one day. One day, it was like her brother came back, only not really. The new boy wasn't really her brother, but he smelled of sun too, and he told her of things that she couldn't even imagine, living in the caves and just getting to know all the different kinds of rocks and shit. Told her about birds and the ocean, and of cake and ice cream, and all she saw when he talked were colors, but even the colors were enough that she fell in love with him, completely. And she let him take her out of the caves at last.
The sun blinded her.
---
As she rips paper in her small corner deep in the caves, it's this story that Effy recounts time and time again, her whispers mixing with the noise and traveling into deeper recesses, lifeless to the eye. It's been less than a week since she's properly seen the sun or chanced anything more than dancing under the stars, the stars that are rather inconsistent anyway, much like her. Sometimes dipping behind clouds, and other times outshining the moon. A week further from people, and Effy finds herself a week closer to death, shadows forming under her cheeks, although Jason's done his best to fend them off, forcing her to eat, watching over her in sleep. Sometimes, at least. Even now, even after Effy Stonem first caught his attention and was told, with a slight smile, of just how low things had been once for the boy, she doesn't dare hope that anyone will stay. It'd be inconvenient if they did. Make the passage that much harder.
She stands, and it's with a smear of dirt (it almost looks blue in this light) mixed with water that she presses more to her wall. Blind man. Consumption. A painting of a monster behind closed doors.
It's not quite near completion yet, but still Effy stares at the picture that's starting to form, and from between the words and behind the pictures, she thinks she sees death smiling at her, waiting with bated breath.