West Virginia Young Writers 2012 Anthology - Marshall University

ChronophobicHeather GreenDoddridge County High School, Doddridge County3 rd Place Winner (Grades 9-10)I had made her perfect. Her twisted blonde hair fell elegantly around her flawless, ivoryface. Her immortal benevolence would never know the hurt or remorse of humanity. She wouldnever feel the shame of failure or experience the pain of death. Her soul would never beburdened with thoughts of the afterlife. But, in spite of that, the desperate longing in her lifeless,painted glass eyes haunted me perpetually.Even when bound into servitude, any sentient entity has some amount of free-will. Bethat as it may, she is a substance devoid of any freedom. Her heart is an empty cavity, deprivedof a beat. Dead air remains in her lungs, unable to cycle into new life. Voiceless, red lips restexpressionless under an apathetic, blue gaze. She sits enduringly in an everlasting, noiselessoblivion. She is, without a doubt, in absolutely no state of mind.As time ticks in agonizing strokes, macabre scenes dance before her, to which sheremains impassive and emotionless. Her lovely, china-white features remedy an uncanny societywith bliss and charm, yet she is unable to receive contentment in return. Her heartless bodycannot feel happiness.“Why do you cry?” she asks me, searching my lachrymose eyes for an answer. I don’trespond. She doesn’t understand what it means to be isolated, for she has never been introducedto the world. The affliction that so deeply bothers me has no meaning to her.Soon, however, we engage in conversation. I want to teach her the few joys of humanity.Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to be able to fathom what I’m telling her. When I explain to herhow to erupt all of her passion into a beautiful melody, her voice and expression carry out adisharmonized, melancholy drone. I tell her of magnificent heroes bravely battling ferociousmonsters, and her heart does not, even once, beat with excitement. When I remind her of how Icame to be so alone, she doesn’t shed a tear. Someday, she may come to wonder why she feelsso sequestered.As my skin begins to crease and bones begin to creak, I wonder what will happen to thisentity when I am expired. I ask myself if her very existence relies on my own. I believe theanswer is yes. If I told her this, would she care? Is she capable of “caring”? I loathe thesequestions unceasingly.She asks me again why I am crying. I contemplate on giving her an answer. Perhaps, hertoneless, unimpassioned voice is merely a personal display of my own paranoia. She waitspatiently for a reply, her blank stare chilling me to the state of trembling. I feebly clutch mychest as my heart begins to race faster than I have ever felt before. The feeling of drowning inmy own thoughts compels me to gasp for air, but I am without success. My gaze on her isunwavering as her face begins to twist into a reflection of my own horror. The edges of my view26 26