Silently, a spark races on a bleak landscape. A soft trail of light streams behind it, reddish colors glimmering against the grey hills and plains. It darts across the world, leaving behind small squares in the space. These squares show snapshots of another time, another place. A still life of a memory, captured forever on this landscape.
The spark remembers.
As it zooms up mountains and down into valleys, fording rough grey rivers and traversing bleak grasslands, zig-zagging and looping back on itself, the squares, the pictures, come alive and enact the events contained there.
A dining room. A small boy sits on a stack of books on the chair in order to reach the table, a colorful hat atop his head as he watches the candles flicker on the cake in front of him. Around him, the sound of friends and family wishing him a happy birthday echoes into the air. A stack of wrapped presents sits next to him, and a smile comes easily to him.
A small clearing surrounded by trees. A young man stands next to an older woman. They are dressed in somber colors, looking down on a small hand-made cross and a soft mound of earth. Behind the cross rests a heavy stone tablet, and a large procession of people make their way towards vehicles parked at the entrance to the clearing. The man holds his mother close, stalwart and stern in his suit.
The dining room. There is a plate shattered into thousands of small ceramic pieces on the tiles floor. The young man, older than he once was, but not quite old enough yet, stands between his mother and another man. The man clutches a bottle of alcohol and his other hand is curled into a fist. The young man's hand rests on the handle of a kitchen knife and a look of fierce determination is in his eyes.
There is another spark on this landscape, leaving behind its own memories and its own trail. This one is pale blue, leaving streams of light behind it as it races onwards. The pictures it leaves behind are different as well.
In one, there is a young girl, barely five years old, watching through a window as her father packs a few boxes into the car and drives away. Her mother stands in the driveway and stares as the man turns out of sight.
The next shows a teenage girl smiling widely with a high school diploma in her hand. Her mother is in the crowd, clapping loudly as her daughter crosses the stage in her cap and gown.
A living room. The girl is backing into a corner of the room and staring in disbelief at her father standing in the doorway. Her mother is yelling and pointing out the door, and behind her father stands a scared young girl.
The landscape these sparks traverse is always changing, rising into mountainous peaks and plunging into deep valleys and caverns. Some areas are quiet glens stretching across vast acres of land, while some are dense forests in which the sparks zigzag and weave amongst the obstacles.
These two sparks converge and intertwine, their colors merging into a rich violet as together the fly. The memories change too.
A court room. The young man sits by his lawyer behind a small plaque that reads "Defendant." His mother sits in the crowd silently, with a mournful look on her face. A few seats behind her is the young woman, watching intently at the solemn young man under trial. The gavel slams against the desk and the words "Not guilty" ring out in the quiet halls.
A coffee shop. The young man and woman sit together at an outdoor table, smiling slightly as they make small talk. Before long, those smiles turn to wide grins as they tell jokes and stories.
A wooded clearing. The young man and woman stand together at a small tombstone that reads simply "In Memoriam." The man sets a small kitchen knife on top of the slight mound of dirt while the woman holds his arm and rests her head on his shoulder. The man shakes his head and mouths an apology before they walk away.
A bedroom. Under the sheets of the bed, the young man and woman are entwined in passion. They breathe heavily as the sensations escalate and they collapse together. The woman lays her head on the man's chest and smiles. The words "I love you" hang in the air as they hold each other close.
A hospital room. The young woman's mother lies in the bed, connected to an array of equipment and monitors. The woman herself sits beside her mother and sobs loudly while the young man rests a hand on her shoulder. In the hallway, the woman's father sits against the wall, sorrowful but not mournful.
The coffee shop. The young man smiles as he gets down on one knee and the young woman sees him. She runs to him, neither of them seeing the cyclist as he collides with her. The witnesses rush to help her and call 911, and the young man holds her head up and cries loudly.
A hospital waiting room. The young man sits anxiously as medical staff rush back and forth through the halls, helping the needy. He sees the young woman walking unsteadily down the hall, but smiling with a glittering ring on her finger.
This landscape is not barren. Millions of these sparks race across its surface, glimmering with their own light in a dazzling array of splendor. An infinity of color, each leaving a trail of its own memories. Each one unique, each one facing struggles and triumphs, each one finding sorrow and happiness.
Somewhere, one of them is me.
