Concrete Fear

Toeing the Edge

Staring into stars through an emerald canopy of leaves, she lays curled towards the midnight sky, contemplating, in the perfect nook amidst the branches' rough mahogany arms. Often this is, she stares into the sky for help from the clouds and celestials to aid her envisioning of thoughts that frolic about her wandering conscious.

Tonight, the dark clouds take the unfamiliar shapes of buildings- lifeless, monotone, untree-like trees. How could one live in a place with no pulse? She mused, her hand idly trailing the pitch black lines of the cracked bark of her cradle as she stared upward. The pale stars softly mimicked the blazing light that spilled from the windows of her distant left, numerous. Her heart pounded and pondered, what is the difference? What makes me faerie? She wondered, shifting her gaze.

She stared now at the far-off slick grey cityscape that gouged the horizon with gleaming spires: Are we the same? Are we different? ...Are we what humans used to be? They no longer dwell amongst the trees...Stories say they did, long ago. Maybe they do have a pulse, a different pulse. She watched as the artificial lights blinked and withered, blinked and withered – much like her starlight. She wondered if her mystery beings could see the pale stars and slow-floating inky clouds past their orchard of grey structures. She wondered if they cared to see.
She peeled her dainty self from her warm cradle of bark, the cool softness of the night enveloping her delicate moon-pale skin, and cautiously crept out towards the end of her limb, her feet fitting perfectly in the grooves of her refuge. She scanned the far-off city with keen fae eyes that glittered with her curiosity. Her interest fell on an almost unmoving, vague shadow in one of the too yellow windows. She studied the figure: hunched over at a desk, trilling away at something, for only the hands seemed to move. She cocked her head quizzically, squinting now. I need a better view. I have to know. I have to understand.

She nimbly slipped back down the branches of her hideaway and instinctively found her way to the moss covered, moist ground. She looked ahead towards a grey break in the nightfall-darkened flora that seemed so small from the distance. She began to run, her bare faerie feet floating across the damp terrain as the wind captured her silvery tresses and tossed them about. She halted abruptly at the edge of the tree line, standing before an immense ocean of grey, of concrete. She carefully toed the sharp edge and then drew back, staring across its vast emptiness, up at the too yellow window's hazy shadow. She knelt down in the moss, right before the grey edge and ever so slowly but firmly planted her open palm on the surface. She felt something. Electricity. A pulse! She jumped back in wonder. I must know!

She readied herself to step onto the enormous grey slab before her- the barrier to her answers. Her foot hung in the air. Dangled there. She willed herself to put it down. She stared hard into the too yellow light at the almost still shadow and waited for the curiosity to overcome her hesitant stance. Her foot dangled. She exhaled her concentration exasperatedly, an unheard wisp in the cold night air. She reluctantly placed her foot securely onto the wet moss beneath her in disbelief.

She was afraid. Afraid of the ocean of concrete. Afraid of the unknown.
And with that she haughtily turned, sauntering off through the dewy leaves, her fingers explicitly caressing each one as she slipped silently through her forest home. 

We'll never have answers we want. Fear reigns us...fear of what? We fear the grey; they fear the green. Sometimes I wish color couldn't be seen...