Girl with the Golden Glow

The railcar stripped of internal luxuries floated above polished ground. The occupants clung to a bubble of color produced by glow receivers. Without glow, I looked toward the forest which ruptured the monotony of uniformed metallic architecture within the city. My internal monologue scripted a tale of colors blooming naturally. When I returned home, I lingered over blank paper thirsty for the flowing ink of my story. Instead, I abated into replicated steps to a plate of monochrome sustenance. A wide expanse of glow swallowed my motionless grandfather along with various copies of original glow items from the Goldens.

The Goldens within the city center, possess an item of pure glow empowering them to create glow which reflected in receivers. Most who attempted to become Golden live in the slums outside the center wall, addicted to the idea of creation which had been stolen or fizzled away as glow dissipated from their item.

“Do not seek to be Golden. Follow the path of grooming so you can live in a comfortable glow remuneration like me.” My grandfather preached. Still, I could dream.

Standing in a railcar, I immersed in the dull pages of my book, humming the sensations of its original’s glow. I unconsciously sat when a seat emptied feeling a prick against my back. Retrieving the intrusion, a heart shaped locket laced with intricate curving cutouts sat in my hand. I opened the locket to reveal an ouroboros engravement of dual snakes. The design wove inspiration of the complexities of love composed by trials, passion, compromises, and equivalent investments of partners. Characters, events, conflicts, and resolutions illuminated my thoughts fervently as ink danced across my long-neglected paper. My pen clattered against the table with triumph, summoning my awareness to the brilliant golden glow of the locket. Against my hand the locket transcended my skin to a blushing of pink, my hair to a blending of browns and caramels as the pages on my desk began to shine golden.

Elation was stifled by fear. Burying the locket in my breast, I gather my pages concealing them within my bag. I wove between cloned buildings venturing beyond the city limits. The forest spoke in pigment muted languages of serenity. I unraveled myself to the muse, pen swimming across blank paper warming vibrant hues as I went.

A euphonic allure sung through the trees. Enchantment overwhelmed fear as my feet reflexively danced between pillars of earth toward the source. A delicate figure topped with glossy curls of brown hair plucked at luminous strings which crafted the magnetic melody. Frozen in mesmerism, I listened as the Golden boy floated through rhythms, adding decadence to his song. As the lapping of notes subsided, my gaze harmonized with eyes painted in vivid cool colors laced with a ring of gold. My hand clutching the breast of my cloak loosened tentatively at his inviting smile.

“That was beautiful. Will you keep playing?”

The blackening grays of night were cast out by the boy’s radiance as I sat hypnotized into perennial inspiration. I surrendered myself to the revelations releasing my grasp on concealment to unfold into a melodic anecdote. His dulcet song did not falter until I relinquished my pen to slumber.

“May I?”

His eyes dazzled across the glowing pages as he read. The edges of his mouth reflected contemplation paired with fascination. When finished, he grabbed his instrument, cascading into a passionate tide of music. Time was lost as my heart thrummed with invigoration.

“Will you come tomorrow night to listen and share your stories with me?”

Each crossing from median gray to blackness, I sat beside the stream cuddling the banks of the forest as the boy play and I wrote. Our expressions of art copulated into greater animations of glow. With each song, my stories became more dynamic, immersive, influential. With each tale, his music reflected my same progressions. We became glow, entwined in perpetuating germination of creation compounded from our mutual benefactions to one another.

“Why have you not joined the Golden?”

“The Golden are slaves to the Dull as the Dull are perpetuated in stagnation by capitulating their own progression in the glow of the Golden.”

During the day, I had to consciously remember to camouflage my glow by aimlessly placing a receiver in my midst to account for my radiance. The humdrum motions of groomed life went unacknowledged in the weaving of my thoughts toward the next glowing narrative. At night, I lived meaningfully in expression, acceptance, passion, and expansion. My days I existed in hushed disassociation, dull and dormant. My aspirations of being Golden reconfigured to consternation of syphoning my glow to create fabricated contentment for the Dull districts.

I walked exuberantly between buildings as day turned its edge to night where I could live once again. A slam crashed against my head and the muted day fell to black. When I woke, moisture tangled the dull strains of my hair in a throbbing sensation. My bag, my locket, and my glow were gone.

Tears of dread damped the boy’s chest as I grasped at the fraying seams of my life. I had nothing to offer the coupling glow we shared; I was only a consuming Dull now. The boy listened motionless before it grew too late to cling any longer. He pulled out a stack of blank pages and a pen, placing them before me.

“Will you write me one last story.”

His departure left no room for argument. By the glow of my receiver, I wrote. Desperation curdled my stomach as I dictated the fleeting sensations I felt creating with the boy and the love which ensued. Once my pen stopped, tears devoured my vision sending me into convulsions. A gentle touch summoned my attention, revealing the boy at my side hunch over the glowing pages before me.

“How did you…”

“The glow is within.” The boy guided me to his forest home where we flourished in the natural blossoming color of our own glow.