Echoes

            I look out the window at the moon's full face, smiling upon the trees.  Will he come?  The question echoes deep within me.  In a quiet corner, I've set aside a small place in my room, a small place in my heart.  Will he come, wouldst dare that shadow from yonder deep, come flitting through the moonlit dark?  I know the fateful answer, but still I do persist.  Meanwhile, my imagination plays its tricks on me; hope is luring me forward.

Wistful dreams play over and over in my head.  How I wish he would come.  I lay on my bed and stare up at the ceiling with a smile on my face.  The things we would do; the things we would share.  It would be perfect: just like a dream, only real.  Yes, it would be a living dream.  Occasionally I sigh, and feel the ache in my heart, knowing these things cannot be, but always I am off again, dreaming distant dreams of the world where we are together.  I sit up and stare once more out the window.

            And as if thinking to see my reflecting in blackened waters, phantoms come and go in the lengthened shadows.  The shimmerings of light and dark come alive in my eyes, and the rustlings of trees and nightly creatures make me twitch.  My torturous senses are tangled and wound, like some warped snare drum that plays on into the night.  Still, my hope lures me forward.

            He calls my name from behind, but I know there is no one.  The door opens and he walks in, hopping onto my bed.  I make no move.  He puts his hand on mine silently, and still do I ignore.  Moments still by.  Finally, I cannot resist.  "Why?" I ask him, still staring away.  "Why do you exist?"

            "Because you willed it," he simply replied, hopping to his feet.  He tests the springs of the bed before jumping up and falling onto his back with a sigh.  "Because you willed it," he repeats.

            "You should not be here," I say, like the adulterer to the spouse.  This time I turn to face him.  "You…you should not be here."  I can only repeat myself.

            "Should I?  You willed it," he says, matter-of-factly.  He folds his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling.

            "But…it cannot be," I stammer.

            "Can it?"  He sits up and faces me plainly.  "You wait for me and I come.  Now that I appear, do you shun me?"

            "No, no," I hastily reply.  I just want to reach out, take him up in my arms, and smother him in a bear hug.  Still, I know I cannot.  I know I should not.  "But…how…?"

            He sighs.  "You willed it."

            I look out into the night, scratching my head.  The shadows lengthen, as the moon has lowered itself since my last observation.  "Is this place still here?  Am I still here?"

            "Yes.  And no.  Perhaps," he answers cryptically.  Before I can say anything, he continues, "I m here."  He puts his hand on my shoulder and pats it comfortingly.  He pulls away when I wince.  "Did I hurt you?" he asks with genuine concern.

            "No, of course not," I mutter distantly.  I look out again at the moon, mocking me with its full face.  How it laughs in the night as it shines upon the sinister trees, quiet sentries of the night.  Out there—in the land of dreams, in the land of shadows—out there from where our deepest dreams and violent nightmares both emerge.  I turn back to him.  "I…I just don't understand…"

            Another sigh.  "You wished it.  You wanted it.  You willed it.  So it is so.  My friend," we make eye contact as he pauses.  "My friend, the soul finds a way."

            "And so just one would disagree," I say quietly, almost without knowing it.

            "But it is unanimous, is it not?  If body and soul should agree, then what is the mind to protest?  Let it go, for if the three should disagree long enough, then insanity should reign them all."

            I still a sniffle of regret, then a giggle bubbles out of my mouth.  "It would be furious if I told it that it was wrong."

He pats my knee.  "Grieve not.  I am here."

I look at him in the eyes for a few silent moments, then I know what has to be done.

A.

            I close my eyes and breath deeply.  Once.  Twice.  I open them and look down at the small form holding my hand—my digimon partner.

            "I've been waiting so long," I emote.  My yearning is relieved in a stream of tears as I pick him up and squeeze his warm body.

            A voice calls.  "Who are you talking to?"  It is my mother.

            A friend.

B.

            I close my eyes and breath deeply.  Once.  Twice.  I lay back down upon my empty bed and try to sleep.

            "The soul finds a way…" an echoing voice fades away.

            The next night I look out my window.  There are no phantoms.  There are no shadows.  The moon and trees are silent, cold figures of the night.  I lay down on my bed and cry myself to sleep.

C.

            I close my eyes and breath deeply.  Once.  Twice.  I look next to me and there is nothing.  I sigh in relief.

            "You willed it.  You willed it," a voice calls.

            I cover my ears.

            "You willed it!  The soul finds a way!"

            I scream.

            The door to the white room opens.  Hugging my knees on the floor I look up at the man.  "Is there something wrong?" the warden asks.  I remain silent.  He looks at me, dubious, for a moment, then leaves.

            "You willed it, you willed it, you willed it…!"

*                      *                      *

Author's note:

            I hope you enjoyed the story.  However, I do want to make clear at least ONE major point of this work, which may or may not have been clear.  Bear with me—if you are asking questions then this story has accomplished part of its goal: for you to think.  Hopefully this brief explanation (Its not much; really it isn't!) will make the story more enjoyable, rather than less.  (I do apologize to those who found this explanation uninteresting or not enjoyable).  The first version (A) was the original story, but I felt that the presentation above expressed the point of the story more clearly.  Make what you will of it, but ONE of the ideas that I was trying to convey was the conflict between mind body and soul.  In the beginning, the soul wants what is not real, but the mind and body agree on what reality is.  Once the longing becomes acute enough, the body begins to sway in favor of the soul.  The phantoms appear and disappear.  Finally, when the soul and body should agree in full, the mind is left to fend off.  Can the mind alone prevent insanity against the other two?  Is it really insanity for the mind to agree with the body and the soul?  In other words, if you see it and hear it, and you truly want it, is it insane to believe it?  What is reality—is it what we perceive or what we believe?  Some questions for you to consider.