Walking back into the school from Chinese, I looked up to see where the fog had flown.
I hadn’t known that it had taken my breath away with it. The hail had cleared away all the murkiness, leaving behind a dazzlingly clear sky.
Behind the foreground of dark green trees, the setting sun streaked the sky with warm pastel colors over a deep periwinkle blue. The clouds no longer looked heavy-bellied, pregnant with rain that refused to fall; they were light, a sharp contrast to the dark trees they hid behind, softening even the sharpest of silhouettes. They broke up the warm sky into waves, topping each crest with a peak of sky-foam.
Now, it might have just been the lack of sleep talking, but at that moment, I realized how small I was, standing on the edge of the lawn, looking up at the sky at four o’clock in the afternoon in chilly weather. I realized that I lived in a glass bowl, and that I was upside down, looking up at the crested waves where I should be.
Land bound fish. That’s what I was.
Ankle-deep in deep green grass, breathing in the twilight-cold air, I knew that every bird wanted to be a fish and every fish wanted to be a bird. They weren’t that different, anyway. One flew through the air, through a sea of altocumulus clouds, while the other flew through the water, through an endless sky of mist and crystals.
The water is a reflection of the air, and the air a reflection of the water. And today, both were calm.
And I, I was an earthly human being, so similar to every land creature to ever walk across the ground I stood on. And I stood, drinking in the sting and the sharp ache that came with the realization that I was one in millions of other people, with pathways stretched out in all directions from me. I stood, drinking in the icy warmth and the shivers that was the knowledge that I had decided to step off from my journey, and just
Future Sick — Neon Indian