Zara opened her eyes, the dull thud of the nurse’s annoying but constant knock at the door awakened them from their sleep. Zara had been traveling for several hours. They were exhausted from exploring the distant but familiar world of their slumber. The quick steps of the nurse irritated Zara. Every morning it was the same thing. Like clockwork, the nurse came rushing in with an energy that filled the room. Zara was not sure if it was the nurses ability to function early in the morning, or the nurses familiar perfume, bouncing off the walls, filling their nostrils as unignorable and as loud as a waterfall that irritated them more? The nurse reached for Zara’s hand. Without speaking the nurse began cleaning Zara’s arm. Without warning nor hesitation, the nurse stuck a cold, sharp needle into Zara’s arm. It has been weeks of pain, poking, prodding and people buzzing around. This was no way to live. Zara patiently waited for their time to leave.
In a previous life, Zara would flow with their routine like a stream after a heavy rain. Moving swiftly, without interruption. Moving in unison, babbling softly and following the predetermined path carved out by the entities before them. Without question, hesitation or worry, Zara moved through life, softly escorted by the individuals around them.
As a young child, Zara would daydream about the life they would build for themselves. They would spend endless hours, planning out what they would wear, what job they would have, what their family would look like, the home they would build with their partner. These days, Zara is finding it hard to believe that the life they build in their head could ever come to a reality.
It has been several hours, the buzzing of people coming in and out of Zara’s room has halted, for the time being. Zara closes their eyes. Immediately, Zara is swept away. LIke a flash of lightning, Zara is teleported. As if they never left, Zara is walking, talking and communicating with the world around them. The people, places, and things all feel familiar. This feels right, this feels like home. The place Zara visits in their dreams is a place of peace, calmness and without chaos. When Zara is there they can speak, feel, see, hear and experience emotions. The people of that world know Zara and Zara knows them. No one speaks of the times Zara goes away, and upon Zara’s return all is well and as it should be.
Like a slap to the face, Zara feels pain. They are being zapped back to the world of discomfort and sorrow. Disoriented and confused, Zara’s heart is racing and their senses are in fight or flight. Zara quickly scans the room. Taking in a deep breath, Zara soon realizes they are back in the hospital. They have been awakened due to it being time to run more tests. Zara does not look forward to much these days. There are hardly any moments where Zara is alone, free to think, free to roam, free to wish, free to exist. Currently, each day is filled with executing the commands from others, answering the questions of others, meeting the expectations of others. The snarky, layered, poorly coded conversations of the medical team are not clever, although they think they are tricking Zara, they see through the fake smiles, lukewarm conversation and ulterior motives. Zara unwillingly plays the game. They say what is needed, do what is expected and mask to be the person Zara is expected to be.
Zara is a beautiful creature. Their skin glows a warm inviting tone, they have a smile that can light up any dark room, hair is long, thick and alive with movement, eyes are bright of full of wonder. There is not a person or creature alive that does not acknowledge the magnetic presence of Zara as they move through any space. Unknown to them, Zara has a glow of a star, the warmth of a flame and the kindness of an angel. Children gather to be near Zara, adults marvel at their beauty and all are drawn like moths to a flame.
Once again, the golden sun rose and set on the tiny window of Zara’s room. All they had to look forward to is the moment their head would hit the pillow and they could be reunited with their kind, once again, no matter how brief and bitter sweet.
This story was written by Izzy Spears. All rights reserved. Copyright and reproduction rights belong to Izzy Spears and The Southern PaSH Company 2024.
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