Student Stories

Aerynne Lindsey
Posted 8/6/17

Editor’s note: This is part of a weekly series of columns written by incoming Cleveland High School freshmen.

There was once a room — a white, empty room containing nothing more than a lamp, a …

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Student Stories

Posted

Editor’s note: This is part of a weekly series of columns written by incoming Cleveland High School freshmen.

There was once a room — a white, empty room containing nothing more than a lamp, a few books, a backpack and Sabishi. Though there was not much in this room, they kept themselves busy, going in and out of the room as they pleased. Life went on this way, day after day and Sabishi was happy.

One day, Sabishi came home with a black sheet of paper attached to their back. They saw nothing wrong with the sheet and placed it in the closet, far away from everything else. And, for a while, nothing seemed to change. A few weeks later, Sabishi came back with another black slip of paper. Yet again, they placed the paper in the closet.

On and on, more and more papers began to plaster themselves onto Sabishi’s back and filling every inch of their backpack, becoming heavier than river stones. The paper quickly outgrew the closet and began to take up all the space in the room. The sheets piled high up to the ceiling, teetering towers as they were, just waiting to fall and engulf someone into their darkness.

The room grew dark and grim.

Sabishi stopped leaving the room.

They stayed in the darkness — unmoving and alone.

Time passed.

A faint light began to shine through the cracks of the towers of gloomy despair. Sabishi ignored the light. The light flickered in and out, and time and time again, Sabishi turned and ignored it. In the routine of going in and out, the light began to illuminate, as it always did. But this time, the light was tired of being ignored. It began to flash on and off, rather annoyingly at that. Sabishi was, as the light expected, rather annoyed. They moved themselves from their place under the tallest towers of the room.

You could barely recognize Sabishi anymore. Papers covered them from head to toe — a lumbering shadow of one that was once another. They moved through the fortress, despite their large size, without disturbing any of the piles. Sabishi approached the light with caution — they hadn’t seen anything other than darkness in quite some time. The light had come from the lamp.

The light shone to the roof. Papers began to flutter off quietly, gently, as Sabishi climbed the black paper towers to the ceiling. Placing their hand to inked surface, they searched. They searched for something they couldn’t see — something they couldn’t quite remember — yet they knew with absolute certainty, it was there. A click. Sabishi traced their hands across the ceiling. They pushed. Black and gray flakes fell from the heavens and warm, golden sunlight fell into the room.

Sabishi fell. Slowly, one by one, black papers from every angle formed into a raven and flew out of the hole in the ceiling. The room faded back into its white walls, books were found, and the backpack became empty. Sabishi began to leave the room again. Still, papers remained, some never leaving, others moving in and out as they pleased. When they were no longer wanted, they left. The room was never as empty as it once was but it wasn’t always as full as it was either.

And,

For the first time in a long time,

Sabishi smiled.

(Aerynne Lindsey is a freshman at Cleveland High)

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