small fish. small pond. (super short story)

This is the story of a girl and what turned out to be the end of her world. Her name was Charlene and for 17 years she had existed unperturbed. She went to school and hung out with her friends and family. This is exactly how she felt; suspended. She was not too happy or sad, she was not excited or deflated, not too fat or too thin. Charlene was, in almost every respect, average. Even people who hate the word normal would be hard pressed to find a better adjective.
One day Charlene rode the bus home from school. She stared out of the window at the broken yellow line marvelling at its continuity at high speeds. It was as her mind casually contemplated the yellow line and how it was one and many at the same time and how potentially fascinating this was. It was at the very moment that the bus driver smiled at the thought of his dinner that Charlene woke up. She would struggle to articulate the feeling later- “a jolt, a crash, a wave”. She would grasp at these phrases frustrated by their inaccuracy. It was an awakening; jarring, shocking, excessive, solitary, silent and overwhelming. The sensation filled her and she struggled to catch her breathe- aware for the first time of the importance of oxygen. The feeling abated but like most “jolts, crashes or waves” it left everything in its path altered.
Earlier in the day her English teacher had used the word visceral and Charlene was glad to have the opportunity to use it. If anyone had asked in that moment she would have described the change as visceral- deep in her gut was where the change resided. But no one asked. She looked around- attempting to read the expressions on her classmates’ faces- had they felt it? Were they changed? Could they see the realignment of her innards? Was it written on her face? For the first time Charlene was aware of her singularity. No longer a platitude recited by her mother to raise her self esteem. For the first time she found herself getting to the root of all the “unique as a snowflake” messages from made-for-TV movies, the essence is not that we are unique but that we are alone. Alone in the world, disconnected and singular- this was as true as the air she had recently re-valued. She was not sure whether this was a good or a bad realisation. This was the story of how Charlene, previously suspended, had her first fluctuation.

Someday

My friends and I, we live in the someday
of all the things we will be
Someday
Ignoring the now, our promise tides us over
We grasp at the flow and chase the ebb
Never quite touching it
But knowing we will
We are moons shining in the reflected glory
of Someday