THE DARK BOOK

I could hear the wind bumping on my windows. It was still 10 pm, and I had not yet found anything to eat, no water to drink. Through the silence of the night, I started to remember the voice of my mother. She used to sing for me when I was cold and hungry. She used to tell me to fall asleep, and to forget about how grumpy my stomach was getting at that time. We would both look into each other’s eyes, and we would smile at each growling sound coming out of my belly. I guess this was a way to remind ourselves that life and death are both similar in some kind of way.

The night was getting darker. My eyes were slowly closing by themselves. “I am finally going to meet mother again.” I said to myself. I knew she was waiting for me; I knew she was smiling at me, and my growling stomach. I was slowly fading away with a desire to meet her again when I suddenly heard a voice. “was this her voice I was hearing?” or “was this the voice of an angel?” I thought. My pain was lifted for a second. My body was light, and less painful. The voice I first heard seemed to get closer to me. “Sasha, use this book.” The voice said.

It was morning again, it took me a time to realize that I was still here, on earth. My tears were showing up for a waltz, but I decided to look brave, and keep fighting in the memory of my mother. It was hard for me to tell, but I knew she spoke to me the night before. I was sure of it, “it was her; it was mother’s voice.” I said to myself.

New York City is a city that is pretty much appreciated by a lot of Americans, and tourists. The fast paced, the bustle of the people, the busy traffic, and the 24-hour lifestyle make New York City a city that none can compete with in matter of energy, and creativity. A city where anyone can succeed if they find the opportunity to do so. Unfortunately, many people do not realize the dark side of this city; of my city.

Mr. Brown is a street vendor that I feel blessed to count on, in my life. He is a short man, full of charism despite his white hair. He is love and kindness in himself. I lost count of how many times he fed me without asking for anything in return. He would give me water, and a sandwich. He would tell me all about the part of New York City that is admired by many. He would tell me about his clientele, the nice and the not so nice ones. He would keep me company, and he would ask me not to cry often. He came again today, he fed me, and he left, like an angel on earth.

“I have not done much today.” I thought. The more the days are getting longer, and the more uncertain I thought my destiny would be. I was lost in between crazy thoughts, and depression to the point where I had yet realized something strange laying on the ground. It was a small book, a dark book. “Where does this book come from?” I wondered.

I decided to grab the book and to see if I could find anything that would help me locate his owner. Nothing. Nothing was written inside, nothing else to find but a dark pen attached to the book. “this is so strange!” I thought. I did not want to get in trouble, and to get accused of stealing such a nice book; at the same time, it has been a while since the last time I was able to write on a piece of paper. “Maybe I can use it.” I said with a smile.

The most important for me was to test my handwriting. I had no idea on what to exactly write on this book, but I knew this was my chance to do something different than smiling at my growling stomach. It was still cold and freezing outside as I wrote the word “blanket.”

I was shaken by what happened. I looked around me in the hope to find a witness that would tell me that I was neither dreaming, nor going crazy. I needed someone to explain to me why a blanket appeared magically from the book. “This is impossible!” I thought. But no, this was real. It was really a blanket; a warmed blanket just for me.

It took me a while to realize what was happening to me. Then it all came back. The voice, the message, mother’s voice. “This is really happening!” I thought. “I would finally be able to live happily and repay Mr. Brown for all he has done for me.”; “I would finally be able to leave New York City for a better life.” I said to myself. “Is this book really capable of giving me everything I want? Anything I write on these white pages?” I asked thoughtfully.

In fact, there was one thing that I always desired. One thing that is still dear to my heart today. I remember my tears falling out of my eyes out of confusing emotions. I was unable to handle myself, and I was unable to say a word. My chest was burning. For a moment, no words would come out of my mouth. I was still hungry, fatigued, and dirty, but it took me the last breath I had to scream “Mother!”

She was here, she was finally here, for a minute maybe, but she was right here in front of me...

The End.