Her Destiny

She has dreams. We all have dreams. Tangible or impossible, the dreams stay with her, motivate her, haunt her. The dreams are not threads of her afterthoughts as she sleeps. They are the matters she deeply covet; things that seem so sincere yet so surreal. They are her ambitions, her obsession, the reasons her lungs inhale and exhale. She reaches for them, like the marbles on the floor that rolled off just an inch too far for grasp. She stretches her arms, she stretches her limits. She is twisting over the table for the pencil; her feet suspended above the clean, tiled floor. The marbles are clustered together, her fingers quiver next to them. She wants to snatch them all at once, but she knows her hands are not large enough, not firm enough. Touching one marble triggers the rest to roll away, swaying gently, until they wobble out of sight. She loves them all too profoundly to choose. Her weary hand hovers; her ambivalent mind wavers. She does not ask for much; she asks for too much.

“Is it wrong to want so many things at the same time?” She nudges her best friend, another run of the mill being in her life.

“Of course not; we always want more than we deserve.” The best friend shrugs, feigning wisdom.

No one appreciates my dreams; no one understands how far I can go, she grudgingly thought. “What if my wants are more than just wants?”

“If you can make them happen, I suppose you deserve them.” The best friend spoke nonchalantly.

“What if I want and have the ability to be a lawyer and a doctor, but it is impractical to be both?”

She was at the age where concepts about her future fascinated her. The mere notion of it wove into a labyrinth of the mind; where her thoughts would twist and tangle, blindly search for the answer.

“And this is where the scary process of decision occurs, pick one or be forever stuck in limbo!” The best friend’s response rings out sarcastic, but there is a certain truth to it.

“What if I want to be both? What if my dream is to fulfill all my dreams? What if I don’t want to choose?” There is always rationale behind the irrational.

“You have too many “what ifs” in your sentence for me to take you seriously. Don’t ask me questions you already have answers to.” The best friend was tired; tired of the topic, tired of being the best friend.

“Whatever, watch and see.” She walked away with her head held high. She has accomplished nothing, but feels like she has accomplished everything.

She grows. We all grow. Her feet touch the ground; her hand retracts back to her side. The table and the seat she always leaned on vanish. She stands alone, over her translucent, vivid marbles. Her hand itches, but she cannot bend down to pick them up. The best friend’s words echo in her labyrinth. Her thoughts desperately seize the words, looking for the exit. But the marbles’ irresistible glow continues to daze her; her pride blocks the exit. The marbles burgeon in volume, overwhelming her hands, crushing her senses. She remains determined yet faltering. She waits. She watches her marbles shatter, one by one, into fine grains of sand. She is submerged in waves of colorful sand, each grain a pang of reproach; she refuses to cry. There are only two marbles left, one for each hand to hang onto. She picks them up effortlessly despite their gargantuan size, and the labyrinth collapses at last. She strolls out with her dreams, not quite satisfied. Time absorbs the splinters of guilt and reminiscence. She accepts and harbors the remaining marbles as destiny; finally at peace.

She has dreams. We all have dreams. Tangible or impossible, the dreams stay with her, motivate her, haunt her. The dreams are not threads of her afterthoughts as she sleeps. They are the matters she deeply covet; things that seem so sincere yet so surreal. They are her ambitions, her obsession, the reasons her lungs inhale and exhale. She reaches for them, like the marbles on the floor that rolled off just an inch too far for grasp. She stretches her arms, she stretches her limits. She is twisting over the table for the pencil; her feet suspended above the clean, tiled floor. The marbles are clustered together, her fingers quiver next to them. She wants to snatch them all at once, but she knows her hands are not large enough, not firm enough. Touching one marble triggers the rest to roll away, swaying gently, until they wobble out of sight. She loves them all too profoundly to choose. Her weary hand hovers; her ambivalent mind wavers. She does not ask for much; she asks for too much.

Rina Wang
Age 15, Grade 10
Fiorello H Laguardia High School of Music
Gold Key

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