A Secret Among the Stars.
A Secret Among the Stars.
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.
William Shakespeare
Have you ever simply wondered at the night sky? Have you ever attempted to count the stars? Have you taken time, even if it is cold out, just to marvel at them? How do we know that they’ll be there tomorrow, or the next week? Are we taking them for granted, just like we take so many others for granted also? If they disappear one day, will we have learnt our lesson, or would we merely not notice, because we don’t look up and take time for them? What does this say about us?
The stars define us, they’re the things that can guide us on our way and they hold their grounds in religions also. They’ve been evident throughout history, telling stories and making pictures in the heavens: that could change somebody’s life.
They quiver and sparkle, like a diamond catching the light, creating a rainbow prism, and we’ve learnt so much about them, that they’re just like our sun, how they are born and how they end, never to shine again. But we’re treating them like science experiments, because we cannot reach them. What if there was something more about them? I’ve always thought they hold an air of mystery about them; that they twinkle as if they’re winking at us, holding that special secret for you.
What if they did hold secrets? One special secret; one secret for every person on the face of the earth. And to obtain that secret, all you had to do was sit outside on a clear night, face pointed towards the sky and yet your eyes tightly shut, just revelling the majesty. And you would hear a whisper, the secret travelling in on the wind, swirling around you and settling in the palm of your hand, filling you with the truth and you would smile slightly, thanking the stars. And yet nobody would know, unless they truly did it of their own accord. But would you really want to hear the secret in the end, or would you rather be naive, oblivious and safe from the cruelties of the world. What would you prefer?
- - -
Clarissa was a normal girl. She had a good bunch of friends; she got average grades even though she was a bit disruptive in class and she was happy with her life. She wasn’t that interested in guys, she would much rather hang with her friends. She was barely sixteen and was concentrating on studying hard for her NCEA exams, hoping that even though she got average grades usually, she would get better marks on these tests - the ones that counted.
One night she was sitting in her living room, the sun having long set and still the heat stifling, the windows throw open in an attempt to cool the house down. Obviously, it wasn’t working. Her dad was upstairs working on his next project; he was an in demand architect. Her mother’s absence hung over her life a shadow, but she was doing okay.
Clarissa was barely ten when her mother didn’t come home, the news headlines flashing of an unidentified woman who was brutally murdered. She felt sorry for the family; whoever it was. Then she got a call from the police station, and her life turned upside down. Never would she believe her mother wouldn’t be there in the morning, that she wouldn’t pack her lunch or brush her hair. Clarissa most definitely took her mother for granted, and losing her was hard, like it would be for everyone.
Clarissa was trying to concentrate on her history study of William Shakespeare, but she couldn’t, the words blurring before her eyes and the tears spilling over, trying to wipe them away in vain. She slammed her folder shut and threw open the back door, walking out and sitting down on the veranda, looking up to the stars.
The pain wrenched through her and she gave a choked sob, remembering her face and the way she would treat her. The soft, calming hands of her mother, rubbing her back when she fell and skinned her knee, her calm words washing over her like a soft stream, washing away the dirt and the grime; the guilt and the sorrow. Clarissa brought her knees under her chin, and the tears flew freely, her body shuddering with each sob and each rasping breath, her straight hair matting on the sides of her face, her mascara streaked across her face like the stripes on a zebra.
She was gone, gone and never to return. This was the hard part - the times where Clarissa remembered and fell apart, the aching whole where her heart used to be throbbing around the edges, her head swimming and her heartbeat racing. She missed her with all her might, and somebody took her away from Clarissa, and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that her life was short, or that she left behind only two thirds that would fray at the edges without her.
Then, with a whisper of wind, her father was sitting next to Clarissa, cradling her and calming her, stroking her hair and shushing her, trying not to cry himself. They all had times like this, times when they wanted her back, that they would do anything for that. And yet, they couldn’t.
“It’s not fair,” Clarissa choked out, “Why her?”
They all thought of this, why would someone as kind as her have something like this happen to them? But then again, why did good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people? It wasn’t right; it wasn’t fair. But what is fair? Is there anything to go on, what is justice and what isn’t? Is there any type of scale, any true justice system? Or it everything based on lies, maybe everything we’ve every lived for is just a story. But we don’t know do we? There are so many questions that we cannot answer. And we can do nothing about it.
“Why?”
“Ssh, it’s okay.”
Clarissa’s father calmed her down and just sat with her, wiping away her tears and holding her close, thinking of their wife and mother, of how lucky they were to even have someone like her in the first place. They were lucky, in a way, that they had good times and bad times with her, that they would always remember her. And that was what mattered the most.
When Clarissa’s father left, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the stars, thinking about her mother, the tears still came but slower now, tears of thankfulness and remembrance, wishing on the stars that she would never forget.
There was a soft whisper of the wind, he hair ruffling slightly and Clarissa smiled slightly, mumbling a silent thank you to the heaven. She felt a lot better now, the aching in her chest had subsided to a soft yearning, but she still missed her - no matter what.
The whisper of the wind increased and words floated on the breeze, moving around Clarissa like soft, smooth silk and chiffon, resting in her hands and echoing through her.
She will always be in your heart, and you will always remember.
And remember her, she always will, because when someone significant comes into your lives, they will always leave memories behind, and they will always have a special place in your heart.
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.
William Shakespeare
Have you ever simply wondered at the night sky? Have you ever attempted to count the stars? Have you taken time, even if it is cold out, just to marvel at them? How do we know that they’ll be there tomorrow, or the next week? Are we taking them for granted, just like we take so many others for granted also? If they disappear one day, will we have learnt our lesson, or would we merely not notice, because we don’t look up and take time for them? What does this say about us?
The stars define us, they’re the things that can guide us on our way and they hold their grounds in religions also. They’ve been evident throughout history, telling stories and making pictures in the heavens: that could change somebody’s life.
They quiver and sparkle, like a diamond catching the light, creating a rainbow prism, and we’ve learnt so much about them, that they’re just like our sun, how they are born and how they end, never to shine again. But we’re treating them like science experiments, because we cannot reach them. What if there was something more about them? I’ve always thought they hold an air of mystery about them; that they twinkle as if they’re winking at us, holding that special secret for you.
What if they did hold secrets? One special secret; one secret for every person on the face of the earth. And to obtain that secret, all you had to do was sit outside on a clear night, face pointed towards the sky and yet your eyes tightly shut, just revelling the majesty. And you would hear a whisper, the secret travelling in on the wind, swirling around you and settling in the palm of your hand, filling you with the truth and you would smile slightly, thanking the stars. And yet nobody would know, unless they truly did it of their own accord. But would you really want to hear the secret in the end, or would you rather be naive, oblivious and safe from the cruelties of the world. What would you prefer?
- - -
Clarissa was a normal girl. She had a good bunch of friends; she got average grades even though she was a bit disruptive in class and she was happy with her life. She wasn’t that interested in guys, she would much rather hang with her friends. She was barely sixteen and was concentrating on studying hard for her NCEA exams, hoping that even though she got average grades usually, she would get better marks on these tests - the ones that counted.
One night she was sitting in her living room, the sun having long set and still the heat stifling, the windows throw open in an attempt to cool the house down. Obviously, it wasn’t working. Her dad was upstairs working on his next project; he was an in demand architect. Her mother’s absence hung over her life a shadow, but she was doing okay.
Clarissa was barely ten when her mother didn’t come home, the news headlines flashing of an unidentified woman who was brutally murdered. She felt sorry for the family; whoever it was. Then she got a call from the police station, and her life turned upside down. Never would she believe her mother wouldn’t be there in the morning, that she wouldn’t pack her lunch or brush her hair. Clarissa most definitely took her mother for granted, and losing her was hard, like it would be for everyone.
Clarissa was trying to concentrate on her history study of William Shakespeare, but she couldn’t, the words blurring before her eyes and the tears spilling over, trying to wipe them away in vain. She slammed her folder shut and threw open the back door, walking out and sitting down on the veranda, looking up to the stars.
The pain wrenched through her and she gave a choked sob, remembering her face and the way she would treat her. The soft, calming hands of her mother, rubbing her back when she fell and skinned her knee, her calm words washing over her like a soft stream, washing away the dirt and the grime; the guilt and the sorrow. Clarissa brought her knees under her chin, and the tears flew freely, her body shuddering with each sob and each rasping breath, her straight hair matting on the sides of her face, her mascara streaked across her face like the stripes on a zebra.
She was gone, gone and never to return. This was the hard part - the times where Clarissa remembered and fell apart, the aching whole where her heart used to be throbbing around the edges, her head swimming and her heartbeat racing. She missed her with all her might, and somebody took her away from Clarissa, and it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that her life was short, or that she left behind only two thirds that would fray at the edges without her.
Then, with a whisper of wind, her father was sitting next to Clarissa, cradling her and calming her, stroking her hair and shushing her, trying not to cry himself. They all had times like this, times when they wanted her back, that they would do anything for that. And yet, they couldn’t.
“It’s not fair,” Clarissa choked out, “Why her?”
They all thought of this, why would someone as kind as her have something like this happen to them? But then again, why did good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people? It wasn’t right; it wasn’t fair. But what is fair? Is there anything to go on, what is justice and what isn’t? Is there any type of scale, any true justice system? Or it everything based on lies, maybe everything we’ve every lived for is just a story. But we don’t know do we? There are so many questions that we cannot answer. And we can do nothing about it.
“Why?”
“Ssh, it’s okay.”
Clarissa’s father calmed her down and just sat with her, wiping away her tears and holding her close, thinking of their wife and mother, of how lucky they were to even have someone like her in the first place. They were lucky, in a way, that they had good times and bad times with her, that they would always remember her. And that was what mattered the most.
When Clarissa’s father left, she closed her eyes and raised her face to the stars, thinking about her mother, the tears still came but slower now, tears of thankfulness and remembrance, wishing on the stars that she would never forget.
There was a soft whisper of the wind, he hair ruffling slightly and Clarissa smiled slightly, mumbling a silent thank you to the heaven. She felt a lot better now, the aching in her chest had subsided to a soft yearning, but she still missed her - no matter what.
The whisper of the wind increased and words floated on the breeze, moving around Clarissa like soft, smooth silk and chiffon, resting in her hands and echoing through her.
She will always be in your heart, and you will always remember.
And remember her, she always will, because when someone significant comes into your lives, they will always leave memories behind, and they will always have a special place in your heart.