Flutter

An in-class writing assignment based on a picture from The Mysteries of Harris Burdick by Chris Van Allsburg.

            “What?! Where did she go?!”

            I felt an unfamiliar twinge of…something…oh, what do they call it? You know, that feeling when you know something is wrong, terribly wrong, but there is nothing you can do about it. That feeling you get when the world is closing in on you…and  you…afraid of small spaces.

            Panic. Yes, that’s it. Panic. It was gripping my throat, keeping me from calling out, keeping me from screaming.

            She had been there by my side for as long as I could remember. She was constant, like the sunrise, like the breeze. I would gaze upon her, in all of her splendor, relentlessly day and night and never once did she disapprove or cast aspersions. She remained by my side as a companion and friend for nearly twenty years.

            And then she was gone.

            I blinked and she was gone. Emptiness filled the space she had occupied just moments before. It crept into my heart. No, crept is the wrong word…the emptiness thrust its way into my heart, opening a gaping wound, threatening to swallow me from the inside.

            She had discussed freedom often over the past two decades as she gazed upon the heavily wooded mountains through the window. She had lilted on following the breeze over and into the forest, allowing a zephyr to take her to places of dream and wonder. She had wished for the end of monotony, for adventure far beyond the patterned, paper-thin existence she believed she was living. She dreamed of more, and she finally tore herself free from her decorated prison and floated into the vast unknown.

            And I decided I could not live without her. I would not subject myself to a world devoid of her presence and imagination. I would not live in two dimensions when there was something deeper and more meaningful out…there.

            I dreamed of more.  I dreamed of freedom. I dreamed of her.
            The panic subsided. A light flutter, as tissue gently pulled from a half-empty box or wrinkled parchment smoothed by eager hands. And then I was gone.

Ilustration from The Mysteries of Harris Burdick
by Chris Van Allsburg