The Search

Jada Leung, United States

“Greatness,”

she said, and the single word spilled out of her like pouring waterfalls after drought, like spools of ribbon unraveled after years of being held taut;

“I want to be great,” she said, and felt the lines on her face sink deeper into her skin like knives, and felt the ache in her shoulders grapple her down to the ground, she sank;

“Greatness,” she repeated, and stopped.

Her voice echoed back to her into the dry, dim land and as her breathing slowed she could feel the world slow with it. She squinted blind eyes and shifted tired feet, and her fingers felt for the invisible strings that tethered her to her world, felt them as they disappeared into the darkness and hoped that they would lead to something better:

greatness;

and she held her breath.

I want to learn to sing sweeter and dance lighter and bring happiness I want to explore and be explored and hold and rejoice and I want to fly to swim to laugh I want to paint the world in my own colors and watch it bloom I want it to be mine I want to be known and to be loved and to be known and loved loved loved loved loved

Stupid and silly.

But she has come all this way of course.

And her back has pulled its weight and her lungs have breathed their air and her hands have taken their beatings and she has come all this way.

Now she kneels.

Now she holds her hands out to gods that don’t exist and begs for something that does not exist and now she finally drops her heavy head.

You have tenacity. My darling. I’ll give you that much. All this untouched, silent strength. Is that not enough?

Jada is newly sixteen but eternally immature. She has too many unread books on her shelf and too many unwritten poems in her head. She is not a good cook.