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About This Author
A changeling spirit,
constantly evolving,
revolving around an inner core,
spinning forth legend and lore,
stories and lives
as I come to grips
with who and what I am,
have been and may be.
I am a phoenix:
rising ever above and beyond!
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Rainbow World August 17th, 2038
I’ve decided for once and for all to write down that which shall be taken by anyone who reads this to be some sort of a fairy tale. Mind you, they’ll be all excited when this first comes to light. More writings of that famous author, someone will think, as visions of posthumous publication figures dance in their greedy heads. Then they shall read the words and think I must have been out of my head. Of course, they will be right, I suppose, in an odd sort of way as parts of this story certainly are out of something, although I have never been quite sure out of what!
You see, I’ve always had a sort of power. It comes and it goes and I really haven’t any control over neither the where nor the when. But when it happens, the results are usually rather spectacular in their own, weird sort of way.
I must have been six or seven, seven I think, when I first experienced my, oh, inner magic shall we say. I was all dressed up in my new Christmas snowsuit. It was all white and I fancied myself looking like a snow fairy in it. My heathenish big brother likened me to a roly-poly snowman. Being as I was something of a, shall we be kind and say, ‘plump’ child, I expect his idea was far closer to the truth than my way of looking at things, but be that as it may, I felt like a snow fairy.
It had snowed the night before, as it is supposed to do, being as it was Christmas Eve. We were playing in a good foot of light, fluffy snow. I had brought out one of my other presents, a large crystal prism. My brother was playing with his new camera. I’d been lying on my back, having just finished making a snow angel and was playing with the prism in the sunlight. Colors danced and I thought it was the most marvelous magic, not having a clue at the time about how prisms worked. Suddenly my brother shouted at me not to move, and I froze in place. I remember his telling me that I looked like a rainbow.
What I remember is a swirling kaleidoscope of more colors than I’d ever imagined. There was a swirling tunnel of iridescent color that pulled me into another world where it was warm and I was wearing a white frothy dress. My feet were bare and I ran through waving blue grass under a purple sky. An ocean foamed with pink waters and green flowers bloomed on blue and purple leafed trees. I remember feeling ageless and like there was nothing I couldn’t do. I felt amazing and happy and then suddenly I was back, lying in the snow, having just been hit in the face with a snowball.
Later that night, before falling asleep with my prism tight in my hand, I tried to get back to my magical place. In the few seconds before I fell asleep I almost got there, but no. I forgot about the picture he’d taken until several months later when he got his rolls of film developed, my parents exclaimed over how beautiful a picture he’d taken. My parents framed that picture of my rainbow moment. I had a bemused expression on my face as if I were truly seeing something magical. It is still one of my favorite pictures, although it is now long faded. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever looked quite that way since. I never told anyone about my journey as I thought of it. I felt as if I had been gone for hours, but it must have only been seconds. I remember my mother being surprised though, that my bare hands weren’t the least bit cold when we came in that day.
It was sometime after that, that I noticed some people seemed to have colors surrounding them. I first noticed it when my grandmother came to visit us. She was all green around the edges. My great-aunt Mary, who arrived with my grandmother, was faintly purple. No one else in our family had that sense of color surrounding them. When I confided what I saw with my grandmother, she said I was seeing auras around people and that it was very special. I’d tried telling my former best friend about them (she was pink) and she’d just made fun of me and became best friends with someone else. The two of them laughed and giggled at me. They’d turned blackish-grey around the edges and that scared me.
When I was twelve, my best friend broke her arm ice-skating. That night, lying in the twin bed next to her, I heard her crying because her arm hurt. I didn’t think about it, but suddenly I knew I could help her to not hurt. I remember squeezing my eyes shut and focusing on her arm. It was deep blue and reddish-purple, and I concentrated on turning the colors lighter. It seemed to take forever, but gradually, the colors lightened to a pale blue. She’d stopped crying, and I eventually fell asleep although I’d had a terrible headache.
The next morning, her arm was not hurting at all, but mine did. Mine was all bruised where hers had been. When they returned from the doctor’s office on a follow-up visit for her to get a cast, I overheard her mother telling her father that the doctor thought he had mixed up the x-rays, because while her arm looked as if it had been broken at one time, it wasn’t any longer. I never said a word to anyone, even when my friend asked me why my arm was all bruised and hers wasn’t.
Several times over the years, I suddenly knew I could help someone and did. I couldn’t choose when to help. I could do nothing when my grandmother lay dying. I tried to, but nothing happened. I was visiting my grandmother in the hospital. She was asleep, but woke up and watched me trying to help. She took my hand in her frail, blue-veined one and told me to stop trying. She’d said it was her time and that all things have their special time in the scheme of things. I didn’t understand. I didn’t want her to die and leave me. She told me she’d be in my heart. She said she was looking forward to seeing my next rainbow moment. Then she died, and I’d never felt so alone. I watched her glow turn a brilliant green then slowly fade.
When we were at her funeral, as her casket was being lowered into the ground, I saw a faint green glow wisp off into the breeze.
It wasn’t until I was in my forties that I once again visited the rainbow place. I was driving cross country, running from an abusive ex. He’d broken ribs that I couldn’t fix. He’d bruised my soul into a panicked mess. As a parting shot, he’d smashed the prism I’d received so long ago into fragmented shards and I watched as the colors bled into the dirt encasing my soul.
I’d stopped at one of the numerous rest stops lining the highways miles. Wandering through the gift shop, I saw a display of prisms hanging by a window. The sun hit the prisms and colors danced. I didn’t care if it would cut me short on funds, I had to have one. I needed one. One in particular stood out and I brought it to the counter.
When I got back in the car, it traveled the rest of the way hanging on the rearview mirror. Colors surrounded me and my heart began to lift. At one point, I stopped at a scenic overlook. The view was mesmerizing. After a bit, I noticed a footpath and followed it to a lovely meadow full of wild flowers. I lay down in the sweet grasses and played absently with the prism that I hadn’t remembered taking with me.
Holding it between me and the sun, the colors kaleidoscoped once again. I followed the tunnel back to the land of green skies and purple trees, but it seemed as if the colors were no longer as bright. I was a child again in my flowing white gown, but the colors seemed more grey, as if the colors were bleeding out and puddling in a murky ocean. I saw an old woman with hair flowing down her back sitting calmly on a hill facing the sea.
She stood when she saw me coming, and greeted me by name. She said she’d been waiting for me. We sat and she held my hand and talked. I cannot recall exactly what it was she said to me. I remember crying, deep heavy sobbing that came from within the very core of my being. After a bit, we talked some more. I only remember that as we talked, the colors grew more vivid. I heard lilting music coming from the flowers. She told me to sleep a while, and that when I awakened, I’d see more clearly.
A buzzing near my ear had awakened me. I’d been asleep in the meadow and the sun was far lower in the sky. I felt amazing. My ribs no longer hurt, my spirit was light and once again, I felt as though I could do anything I set my mind to doing. I climbed back into my car and continued on my journey. I no longer looked behind me in fear; instead, I looked forward with hope.
When I arrived at my destination, I was surprised. I never thought I should return to Michigan again. I hadn’t planned out where I was headed; I just knew I’d know when I got there. There I rediscovered an old love as well as an old talent. The difference in both was that I was now somewhere where I could appreciate and make the most out of both opportunities.
That was quite a while ago now. I’ve been happily married to a wonderful, humble, kind man for thirty years and counting. He still has this marvelous blue glow surrounding him. My children and their children and their children as well formed a rainbow of softly glowing faces as we celebrated our thirtieth anniversary with a family photograph. In one hand I held my prism, in the other, my husband’s hand.
I haven’t felt that urge to help anyone for a long time now. If I should, I know I will respond as I once did. I seriously doubt that I could help myself. That old talent was writing, and it has stood me well over the years. Funny how a writer writes her tales and folks often don’t know quite for sure if the stories really happened or not. People never ever really knew for sure. Guessing that was quite the compliment. And, I expect, when they find this, they may well wonder the same things. Only this time, when it is for real, they shall probably think it total fantasy no matter that I flat out say it is the pure, unvarnished truth.
When I finish this, I shall wrap in it plain paper and tie it with a blue ribbon. I will put it in the attic in my old trunk. On top of it, I shall lay my prism. Someday, one of my children, or one of the grands shall happen upon it, and just maybe, they too shall travel to my rainbow world.
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© Copyright 2009 Fyn (fyndorian at Writing.Com).
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