Wintry Night

The dancing wind on the wintry night always brought about the whispers in the young boy’s heart. Was it the scowling wind or the biting cold that brought the pain? Was it the endless stars and the bright moon that brought upon his hopes and dreams? Or was it the company around him that brought the laughter, the smile, and the warmth to his face?

The music playing in his ears and mind painted the video he once sought to create. His imagination was ablaze, creativity flowing from his very being. Voices, places, sounds emerging from the boy.

The striking of the piano keys, strumming of the guitar, fluttering of the flutes and the voice of the choir brought color to the boy’s world. Voluminous colors of different shades colored his world. Each desire a different shade of blue, every love a different shade of red, every nightmare a darker shade of gray.

Songs continued to play and doors appeared across the world the boy created. Numerous were the gateways the boy could open and peculiar was the way each door opened. The boy sat flabbergasted for a long time with no way to open any door. He walked and wondered living by himself in a world where only he existed.

The piano keys kept on striking, the guitars kept strumming, and the flutes never stopped fluttering. The boy walked and walked, trying door after door. He finally sat and put his back to the door. Closing his eyes and listening to the music, the boy sang.

His back slipped as the door opened and the  first person entered his world. The boy laid on his back looking at the new comer to his world with a quizzical look on his face.

“Where were you?” the boy asked.

“I was always here. You just never called for me,” the visitor responded.

“How long are you staying?”

“How long do you tend to keep me in your world?” the visitor asked.

“As long as you wish to stay,” the boy smiled.

The boy and the visitor walked for some time causing the visitor to be known as a friend. Both the boy and his friend continued to walk to doors, singing songs together, inviting more people into the boy’s world.

Before the boy knew it he was amongst a group, but with time the boy’s memory started to forget notes to certain songs. Some friends soon became visitors and eventually the visitors returned to their gateways when the boy forgot the songs of the old. New songs were sung and new visitors and friends were brought to the boy’s world.

Whispers of the wind snapped the boy out of his memory. He looked around and noticed he was a part of another’s world. Everyone was a part of another’s world. Each melody unique to the creator, every instrument tuned to their creativity.

The boy smiled. It took him awhile to realize it, but he eventually did. Not every door held an answer to where he was going, but it held the experience, a piece of the melody. For on that cold wintry night the boy realized to  reach the door of dreams, the pieces of the melody needed to open the door would come from his experiences and not from his desires.

- Bilal Mian

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