Rachael’s Birthday
When the sky turns gray and the trees begin to die, when animals move from shelter to shelter to escape the changes of weather, when fires burn the forest and bring life-changes to an earth in need, when these things happen, bringing with them sources of wonder, this is when it begins.
This is the time of Rachael’s birth, a time of rejuvenation and of promise. But darkness grows and congeals, a wound that clots, and Rachael Free doubts. For her standing in life, she worries. For her friendship among her peers, she worries. Most of all, for love, she worries.
The skies show blackish-red in anger; not anger borne of hatred but of confusions and lesser displeasures. Understanding is denied Rachael Free, but to a soul slowly dying, the aching is great, but not so great as to encourage her to alleviate her suffering.
Why should she suffer? She is in position to; why is irrelevant to her present thinking. She is doubtful. And she is scared.
The skies, ruddy and dreary, speak to Rachael Free. What they say gives her cause and this cause itself adds to her confusions. They say, “Who are you?” She would answer, but she cannot find the words; because she thinks, maybe there aren’t any.
Pain has visited Rachael Free, and has now come to live with her. The pain embraces her and threatens to clothe her in doubt; the doubt she thinks should be hers, because she leaves herself open to it.
Today is Rachael’s birthday. A party will be given in her honor. She will be the only one in attendance.
The sun screams at her and with her, and she tries to listen, the absurdity of a screaming sun to confuse and terrify her. The sounds she hears in the streets, the people she sees, all more beautiful and happier than she, add to the absurdity of this day, this day of her twenty-first birthday. Her eyes search the sky, noting its color, and she wonders what will be her future.
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