I stared up at the
temple, white against the black of the sky, arched above my head.
There were stars in the air and stars in my eyes as I took a breath,
my hands held out in front of me as if in prayer. I felt alone, I
didn't quite know what to do. The temple was empty, its large pillars
colder than the air, its beauty marred almost by its bleak void of
life. I, on the marble steps, breathing in and out, felt isolated
from everything. What was I even doing here? My hands shook as the
stars wavered through the slats in the stone roof.
Then, out of the
darkness, floating as if on a cloud, came a mermaid. Her skin seemed
grey and her face was bloodless, like the ghost of a sea woman. Her
face was pained, yet there was contentment in her pearly eyes. Her
scales glistened like silver in the precious starlight, but her tail
flicked impatiently and nervously from side to side, searching for
something.
“What do you pray
for?” I asked hesitantly, and her eyes seemed to notice me for the
first time. My hands were still clasped before my chest, my feet
planted on the steps. She floated up and down slightly as she
answered.
“To swim,” she
murmured simply, before closing her eyes. Then, she sighed and
started to fade, 'til all I could see again was black and white and
the stars. As doom set in, another figure emerged, and soon I had a
man hovering before me. His face was equally as grey as the mermaids,
but his eyes were a summer sky blue. His legs were stumps, with
ripped trousers revealing smooth scarred skin around the knee bone,
where the calf and shin should begin.
“What do you pray
for?” I asked, fearing him almost. But his reply was placid; he did
not hate the world for what it had done to him.
“To walk,” he
nodded, as he too started to fade and leave me, I waited for another
figure, and at first I thought perhaps I was truly alone, but then he
appeared. This man had black holes for eyes, and my initial instinct
was to run. They were darker than anything I had ever seen and seemed
to shine out of his pale face, questioning me. Sight, I knew he
prayed for sight, and that I could not give him. My throat and tongue
dried in my mouth as I shook, ready to cry, unable to ask. But he
spoke to me.
“Not sight. I do not
pray for sight. I only pray to have had the ability to see, so that
when I sense the world, I can imagine it as it is. I only wish for
visual knowledge and memory.” He bowed his head, the holes gaping
hopelessly at the floor.
My heart thudded as he
faded, and my hands left their pose of prayer to reach up and trace
the rims of my own eyes. I wished, crazy as it was, that he could
borrow them to see the world. But maybe, perhaps, he was better off
believing its brilliance, than forever brooding on the darkness and
the stars. I stared down at my own feet then, the feet made for this
world, the feet able to take steps and run. As if on que they jolted
forward, carrying me up into the temple, 'til I was standing in the
middle, my eyes wide. Everything was as it should be. My body held no
ailments, no cuts, no bruises, and no breaks. I had scope to dream,
scope to live, scope to achieve. Yet, I was praying. What for? What
was it that I required?
All of a sudden I felt
alone again. There was no helping this. It was as swift as a dagger
to the heart, that sadness. It struck when you were wavering like the
stars. Then, the figure of myself floated down from the darkness. It
looked grim and tired, weary from wanting. But I could not guess what
it would say, so I asked; I had to ask.
“What do you pray
for?”
It's eyes opened – my
eyes opened. They were silent for a second to the point where I
thought perhaps I would not receive an answer. But then, the mirrored
me spoke, and I felt a sense of gratitude for this strange night and
my own mental madness.
“The elimination of
scepticism,” the figure said. “Hope. I pray for hope.”
