"There was light. But not warm this time, not soft. It flickered — strained — like it was fighting to protect its glow. Sorrow, anger, and shame consumed me. Still, I felt ambitious and stepped forward. I wondered again. I always do. And then-
They emerged into a large playground. They were sitting, though not because they intended to be — they simply found themselves that way, as if something had sat them there. They rose and greeted the same darkness from before, welcoming it like an old, familiar shadow.
They approached the playground and examined it: slides, seesaws, swings. The structures were meant to bring joy, to cradle laughter. Yet they sat still — forgotten. Then, the swings began to move. Perhaps the wind?
No. The sky had yet to breathe.
The swings swayed back and forth, never gaining speed, never slowing. All but one — a lone seat that refused to swing. It remained still, as still as the one watching it. Were they waiting for it to move?
The silence pressed deeper. And so, they walked away — the same faith embedded into their stride. Their legs sunk into the ground with each step, their focus unwavering. Perhaps they were counting their steps, keeping record of their journey.
That changed when they heard another pair of feet faintly slapping the floor. Another figure walked behind them, matching their pace. The first stopped moving. They examined the second — no, this one was different. Smaller. Fragile.
A third.
They were smaller than the one from the library. Their height reached just above the first's legs. They paused and stared at one another. There was something unusual about the third — a face.
No. The features were painted, still and lifeless — a mask.
The third wore a mask. The smile plastered onto the object hid whatever lay beneath it. What were they hiding? What did they not want the world to see? The third stepped in front of the first, gesturing back to the playground. The first followed the third to the swings. They continued to sway, all but one. The third sat atop the still seat and began to swing.
They paused, beckoning the first to join them. It could be they were waiting for a playmate. The first grabbed hold of another swing, bringing it to a stop, then took a seat. The third swung, yet the first stayed still. Did they not want to play?
No. The swing refused to move.
The third swung higher, faster. Their feet cut the air, their hands steady on the chains. They looked at the first, again and again. Perhaps it was pride. A tilt of the head, a small motion. Could it be they wanted the first to see them swing?
No. They simply wanted to be seen at all.
They slowed, then stood. This time, without a signal, they walked. They passed the slides, and the seesaws. The first followed.
They arrived at a large wall, one that seemingly reached the edges of each side of their dark world. The darkness spilled deeper here, coloring the ground until even the world seemed to vanish. In front of the third stood a ladder, reaching into the void where the sky should be.
The third began to climb. With every step, they moved faster — desperate. They looked back at the first, then fell. They repeated this sequence for some time. Each fall came heavier than the last — again and again, until they no longer felt like mistakes. The first stayed, watching silently as the third continued to climb, look, and fall. A simple nod, a glance. Did they want the first to watch?
They fell for the final time. They did not rise. Not this time. They stood where they landed, hands balled into fists. The first continued to watch. Still no sound — no breath, no movement.
Then, the third gripped the mask — fingertips digging into the painted features. They clawed at their false face, tugged at the smile they'd drawn. They scratched, tore, as if peeling off a second skin. Cracks began to form, the mask began to slip and without ceremony, it broke.
The third did not look up. They watched as the fallen mask sank into the darkness. Their shoulders began to tremble — not with fear, but anger. A quiet rage. They screamed, but the deaf world did not echo their voice. They covered their face with their hands. Perhaps they did not want the first to see what lay beneath the mask.
No. They simply didn't want to be seen at all.
The third ran. Hands over their face, they passed the first and continued to run. The first followed. In the distance, a large building came into view. Faint sounds of laughter could be heard beyond the gate.
They arrived at the entrance the third ran into. The building was old, its façade worn thin by time. Darkness leaked from behind its windows, casting a ghostly air across the walls. The laughter grew louder now — repeating in loops. It echoed again, stained with something too sharp, too proud. Not the kind that invited the listener, but the kind that excluded them. They weren't disturbed by the haunting scene, and so they walked on.
The door clicked shut behind them. The sounds vanished. Within the halls, silence once again accompanied them. Pairs of shoes sat near the entrance, too small for their feet. A room flanked the entrance, and twin staircases curved and met in the middle. Dust-choked chandeliers hung still from above. And beneath them, an open door.
On the wall hung many frames, yet the paintings were clouded with shadows, unable to be admired. The floor was littered with stuffed toys that lacked their usual endearing features. They picked one up from near their feet, but it quickly faded into nothingness.
They inspected the room to their right — a classroom. Rows of small desks sat neatly, facing a large chalkboard on the wall. Faded writing ran across the board. They grabbed a piece of chalk, and began tracing. The line they drew disappeared as quickly as it was drawn, only the faded writing remained.
Down the hall and into the open door was a large kitchen. A sweet aroma penetrated the air. They stood still for a moment. Perhaps the journey stirred up quite an appetite — if they were able to feel such a thing.
From the kitchen, the hallway rose ahead. Step by step, they began climbing towards the upper floor. Another long hallway, and an entrance on each side of the wall. At each end of the hall was a bathroom. They approached the entrance near the boys bathroom and entered the large room. Many beds were seated from wall to wall. Clean, colorless sheets covered every bed. There was one, however, that wasn't made.
A singular bed in the middle of the room looked as if it was recently used. They glanced over at the other beds, then approached the unkempt one. They cleanly tucked in the sheets and fluffed the pillow. They hadn't made the mess, yet they may have felt obligated to fix it.
The bed now resembled the rest. They heard a noise. Something — no, someone entered. The third stood silently at the entrance the first came from. Without acknowledging the first, they approached slowly and began examining the bed. Perhaps they would feel happy that it's like the others.
No. Anger had not yet received its fill.
Without warning, they tugged at the sheets and threw the pillow to the ground. Despite the difference in stature, they shoved the first and ran out the room. Their small footsteps could barely be heard from where the first stood. The first followed them.
From the staircase, they caught sight of the third crouched near the entrance. They hugged themselves and held their head within their arms. It seems anger had grown tired, and sadness replaced it. Had there been usual features visible on their face, perhaps tears would have blanketed them.
The first approached slowly. The third stood quickly. There was hesitation, as if they were afraid they might shatter again. They paused and met each other's gazes — despite their lack of. The first knelt down and gently placed their hand on the third's head. The third flinched, then stood still. Their arms slowly dropped to their sides. This time, they did not run.
Perhaps they no longer needed to. Perhaps they were tired of running, of hiding. Perhaps they only ever sought validation.
No…
They wanted permission.
Approval for something so obvious, yet so fragile.
They wanted permission to exist.