Something Forgotten

Something Forgotten

By Nika Ravenscraft 

It has been forgotten, the bright light, the light that use to originate from the bright orb in the sky has dulled, enveloping the world in everlasting twilight. Clouds are scattered across the sky, hiding the rainbow of colors that lurks behind them. I can’t help but wonder if behind all those clouds, all those cotton-ball like objects in the sky, if somewhere the original sky remains, the sky that was blue like the ocean. I’m starting to wonder if it ever really existed, if there ever was a bright yellow object called the sun, if there ever was a stunning blue sky.

The sound of my footsteps are muffled as my feet meet the soft texture of the ragged, old rug that lays just beyond the doors of the main entrance. The high school has already started to wake up, and to come alive. Students stroll down the hallways, just loitering around various parts of the school. The quiet is short lived, a chorus of voices, and a plethora of conversations flood into my ears, accompanied by the sound of my feet now connecting with the tiled part of the floor. The overload of sounds is interrupted by the shrill yell of the bell, signaling that it is time to head to class, and to start the school day. With a sigh, a sigh that causes nearby hair to fly up, reach for the sky, and fall back down, I trudge to my first class. I travel across fields of shining tile, my reflection joining the reflections of other students as I travel down hallway after hallway, climb up stairs, go down a few more series of hallways, before reaching my final destination. I enter, letting my gaze automatically lower to the floor. I don’t feel like watching my classmate’s fingers fly, as they text their friends or go on social media sites. I sit in an area that has no one sitting in it, roll my eyes at the sight of all the expletives that are carved into the desk’s surface, and get out all the necessary materials. Before zipping up my bag once again, I do a mental check, binder, pencil, and computer. It looks like I’m all set. The song of the day comes on, giving those who still linger in the halls extra time to get to class in a vain attempt to not be late.  A man belts out, “Oh how I miss they sunny days. I would do anything to get the sunlight back, to feel the bright beams warm against my skin.  Where are you, the orb that represents my happiness? Oh the sunny days, oh the sunny days... Without you, the source of light, the sky has grown faded and ugly. The moon enhances the sky’s beauty at night, but what about the day? Oh my hope, oh my i-ll fated love, where have you disappeared to?  I just want some sunshine, I want a bright day...”  The rest of the song is muted by my classmate’s chattering, criticizing the song, asking others if they have ever heard it before, if they know who sings it. My heart feels heavy, and a chill has spread across my skin, causing goosebumps to form. A headache blooms from the previous cloudy feeling in my mind, and I rest my head in my hands, and cover my eyes that have grown watery. Why does that song make me feel so sad? Why has the song nearly brought me to tears?

My teacher enters, clapping his bony hands together, as a wordless demand for silence. “Today....” he says, in his surprisingly deep voice, “we are going to start studying the Japanese religion of Shinto. Amelia, do you have any previous knowledge of Shinto that you would like to share with us? I let my face turn hard, solidifying into a mask. I try not to let my irritation show. I shouldn’t be too surprised that in one look he assumed that I was japanese. My parents, who look just like me have informed me of my true racial background, and have warned me that many people mix Chinese and Japanese people up. ‘Although the two races look similar, anyone with half a brain will know you’re Chinese,’ my mother informed me, with my father sitting next to her, merely nodding in agreement. But to my surprise, random facts pop into my mind. Kami are spirits, but can be also seen as gods. A kami’s duty is to support life. Kami can get hurt and die, just like a human. They aren’t perfect and make mistakes. They have emotions. Most important of all, not all kami are good, some are evil. How do I know this? I have never learned about Shintoism before, I’ve never stumbled across it when reading, or doing other research. I lower my hands, and let them rest in my lap, using the desk to hide them. I glance down, eyeing them with disgust, they’re shaking, I’m shaking. “I can’t think of anything... Sorry.” I can feel multiple people stare at me, their gaze focused on me, their eyes straining to see right through me. All this attention, having so many people intensely looking at me makes me feel uncomfortable. I stare at my hands until they blur, and fight the urge to shift my position, making my agitation obvious.