A RARE SOUL
par EVÀNGELINA FYSA
There was something strange about the way she was after midnight. Vulnerable and fragile, almost like a porcelain doll. Perhaps it was because the night sky knew all of her secrets. It heard her cries; it grasped her thoughts. Her eyes couldn't see the light anymore. She was lost into its dark womb; into this dark dream, this dark dream of abyss. And he was the only one who could make her feel safe again. To rescue her soul; to plunder her inner gold. So she gave him a call.
I'm scared, she said. Her charcoal sentence struck a chord in his heart.
I know. I know you are scared. But do me a favour. Go to the nearest window and look up. Look up and gaze upon the opium stars – become a part of their slow-dance.
Are you watching?
Dance, dance, dance...
Now find the crescent moon. It may not be full but it is still beautiful and ever watching. Like you. Cast off your darkness and put on the armour of light, he said and ended the conversation.
And she looked around. Lights were finally on; shiny blackness gone. All because of this rare soul.
He always had the most beautiful visions. He wasn't fooled by mistakes or dark and grainy visages. He remembered her beauty when she felt ugly; her wholeness when she felt broken. He was her miracle; her light in the tunnel; her neon sign in the dark alley...█