ophelia

The world was creative anarchy. Laws were only insipid statements written on paper, barely enough to keep anyone in line. Or maybe only those who lack kindness in their heart, those who are ruined and desperate enough to try. Ophelia knew that from the start; or least when she stepped into the world. She lost her childhood the moment her hands touched the outside.

There was something amusing to her about good and evil, such vague terms with such little meaning. Bland words could describe reality-and truly, what was reality? The only windows Ophelia ever had open in her life were her own eyes. One single perspective in a bustling castle, where everyone had a different set of problems, a different set of eyes. She could not fly, like a raven as dark the night itself. She could not observe the world from above, watch the lights flicker to life, peer over tiled roofs and cut through fog and smoke. She would never know the answers to her questions, to the infinite possibilities that stretched on for miles in every direction.

If she were a raven, could her feathers have landed on the soil? Could she have traveled away from everything, unrestricted from laws? Could she have escaped? Or would she have been caged, just like she was, pampered but imprisoned nonetheless? Her powerful wings rendered useless, her macabre wails silenced with a swift hand?

She could pose questions until she got tired. No answers echoed back, only an impenetrable wall made of black mist and increasing frustration. At the end of day, Ophelia was dead. She was nothing more than a relic of the past, a simple name that brought nostalgic smiles and wet handkerchiefs. She wondered if it would’ve made a difference at all, all those little decisions that built her up to that moment she couldn’t take it anymore.

No, she decided. No, it wouldn’t have made a difference. Finally, an answer, only one.

But they could add up, until she would have all the answers she wished, until her thoughts become reflexes and her mind becomes a flourishing garden instead of a neglected cemetery. She figured she had the rest of time to think about everything else. She had all the patience and love in the world.

An empty feeling clogged her mind, like foot traffic at noon. She quickly realized that the pressure eased, slowly but surely, and she was left alone, left alone from addiction. There were no wants, no needs. She was free-there was no cage, no enemies, no good or evil. There were no what-ifs.

If she were a raven, she would be as red as blood, and she would spread her wings and fly.

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