Seen and Unseen

A short, sad little tale about a lonely wind who seeks to spread her mirth to all the land, and to one particular little girl.

 

I suppose you expect the story to start at the beginning. That is impossible. I know of no story, save one, which starts at the Beginning and that is not the story I wish to tell. No, my story begins somewhere after the Beginning and ends sometime before the End. Therefore, the wind shall carry my story, for who can tell where it begins or ends? Like story itself it flows through time, unending and invisible. At the moment we acknowledge its presence, we find ourselves in the middle of it.   

 

Once there was a wind. It was not a mischievous wind, but like all winds she blew unseen, uninvited, hardly welcomed, and lonely. Ever in search of a friendly air she sped throughout the land and came upon a certain town. After gracefully slipping through the gate she found herself in the midst of a grand market, full of cloths of all colors and gems that shimmered in the noonday sun. Voices were heard in every corner bartering, praising, shouting, demanding.

Here now, the wind thought, the air is welcoming, for no one is turned away in this place. Surely they will see me in my splendor and wonder at my mirth!

Twirling through the market she gathered herself among valuable fabrics; she tried on the most colorful clothes and small, fine jewels, and she tossed them about in her joy. Always an honest wind, she laid down her most treasured wisps in payment for her goods. “A nuisance,” stated a fat shopkeeper, attempting to pin down his wares with his arms. “Most unfortunate,” muttered a jeweler as he quickly scoured the ground for his fallen items. One after another the breaths of curses flowed against the wind until the marketplace became too foul an air for the wind to endure.

The mirth is gone, and I cannot dwell here, the wind thought sorrowfully, I will go to another place where the air is sweet, that my mirth can be treasured.

Twisting about the streets of the city and sure to avoid every object that could blow away in her wake, she finally arrived at a large courtyard. The laughter and dance of a festival appeared all about her as the sweet taste of the air flowed against her dress of breezes. Children playfully wove in and out between the legs of their parents; couples danced to and fro, arm in arm; young athletes raced about the square and older folk sat drinking and sharing childhood stories.

As musicians played fanciful rhythms upon their instruments, the wind gleefully used each musical note as a stepping stone to the middle of the courtyard. Unable to contain her joy at the sights and sounds she let out a gust of mirth and flung herself among the dancers. She twirled with the girls and stomped with the men; she flowed along each stringed instrument, playing her favorite melodies; she whisked about the tables and cradled every word of the old men’s stories. In a moment of exhaustion she turned back to take in the joy of the festival.

Her gust of delight had violently blown more than one child down in surprise. Hats went missing and women held their dresses in modesty. Dancers had taken nasty falls as rebellious hair fluttered in their eyes. The musicians held on to their instruments tightly as strings broke and handles snapped. One older man had been shocked out of his chair in mid-story. “Wind stole the show,” he cursed under his breath. Others agreed and hoped it would not happen twice.

The unwanted wind became sorrowful and let their breaths settle around her before she silently wove through the crowd and away from the city. I will go to the countryside, she stated, where the air is fresh, and I may roll over the hills and be warmed by the sun, and there be of nuisance to no one.  

The town behind her and the country ahead, the wind flew amongst the clouds and pushed them into her favorite shapes. She rolled over each hill in laughter and hastily returned to the top only to fall once more. She petted the wild horse’s mane and carried leaves off to new worlds. She groomed the pastures free of thistles and delivered fallen seeds to their new home, yet as she tried to soar to the next grove, she felt the air grow foul once more.

Farmers from the countryside burst from their homes and gazed in distress at their farms. Windblown thistles choked their delicate crops; unwanted seeds had been planted beyond count; their cornstalks were blown over or torn apart; fences had been swiped aside, and horses and cattle roamed beyond their boundaries. As farmers attempted to repair their damaged livelihoods they cursed the day the wind was created.

The wind turned away from the country, homeless, and wondered if any thing in the world was as sad as she. Over hill and forest, mountain and pasture, the wind gazed upon the joy of the land, unwilling to share her mirth in fear of rejection. At last she came upon a cliff and set her gaze upon a golden kingdom that she had never before seen.

 How beautiful it is! She thought to herself in wonder. The splendid kingdom stretched to the horizon, its outer walls glimmering yellow hues of a fresh daylight. Though the sun was rising beyond, the heavens seemed only a reflection of the oranges and reds that glowed from the city lights. Had any one of its structures been seen in another city, they would be deemed an architectural masterpiece. However as all the structures stood together the wind could not distinguish their splendor as ‘more beautiful’ or ‘lovelier’ than another; the minute she valued one, another stole her gaze. In a fit of joyous frustration she simply deemed them all as ‘unlike’ one another in their own special magnificence.

The wind nearly burst into joy at the sight, yet she remembered her previous misadventures and glanced about to see if anything would be too disturbed by her sudden joy.  Surprisingly, she had not noticed that a young girl sat a small way off, gazing upon the same city and weeping softly.

Oh what a poor girl! Thought the wind, Here now, she is already weeping. What more can I do to grieve her? I will go and see what can be done.

Amidst her quiet sobs and sniffs the young girl felt a gentle breeze wipe the tears away from her cheeks. Small drafts of air brushed the hair from her eyes. As a stronger breeze flew overhead she heard the spring trees rustle about her softly in such various crunches and crackles that they seemed to her like syllables: Girl, why do you stain my breeze with your cries? the leaves swayed into words.

The girl jumped up with a start and glanced to the trees for the source of the sound. The wind could not tell, but it seemed to her that the girl’s teary eyes stared directly at her. Her eyes! How beautiful they glistened as the last tear fell from them. Their pale blue spheres seemed filled with an enchantment that the wind could only marvel upon. It was as if everything blue that she had ever seen first originated from those eyes. “Are you the wind?” the girl asked and the trees shivered at her words as if to savor her captivating voice.

The wind fell before the girl in a gust and spoke through the trees: Do not be afraid. My limbs are the air and the breeze is my gown. My train is the gusts that flow among the trees. The wisps are my gems and the air that flows across your face, my curls. I have no home and I know not where I go. If you must give me a name, I am Alina. What is your name, little one?

“I’m Neena,” said the girl softly. “and I’m weeping for my friend Cecil who can’t see that wonderful kingdom. Oh it’s so beautiful! Cecil has eyes, but you wouldn’t know it unless you saw them,” Neena pouted. “He never uses them.” The wind still thought that her eyes pierced through her spirit.

Can you see me? the wind asked curiously.

“Well of course I can!” the girl replied as if insulted, “You are a fairy of winds! How could I not recognize you? The sound of your air makes me think of the sweetness of songs and your hair the scent of fresh grass. When you touched my cheek it reminded me of my mother, and when I heard your voice I saw the leaves dance.”

Alina the Wind let forth a cry of delight and flowed about Neena in a whirlwind of laughter. Little Neena, it is you who can know my mirth, for I am at home in your sight! she cried. And the trees, what do you think of them? She asked eagerly.

“Well,” the girl looked at the giant oak nearby. “I always see them as old guardians, filled with stories unable to be told.”

Or unwilling! The Wind added, ushering a laugh from Neena. And the stars?

Neena’s eyes twinkled: “Diamonds glittering in a space of unknown treasure.”

You are most treasured among mortals! The wind exclaimed, For someone with such sight, I have the power to grant a request. Ask what you will, and I will see it done.  

Neena stood gazing upon the brilliant kingdom that still shone beyond the cliffs. The warm tones of red and yellow shone on her face like water reflecting sunlight. “I wish Cecil could see with the same enchantment,” she said at length.

Alas! The power of your eyes cannot be duplicated.

“I ask then that Cecil be granted my own eyes,” the girl said at length.

Alina the Wind was sorry for Neena, for she loved the girl’s eyes very much, yet she could not take back her offer. Very well, she spoke remorsefully, and twirling about Neena she whispered soft spells, entrancing the girl to close her magnificent eyes for the last time. To Neena, all became a painless but perpetual blackness.

Now blind, the girl clumsily felt her way to the spot where the wind had first noticed her. “This is our favorite spot,” said Neena, not a bit worried at the loss of her sight, “soon he will come running to see me! I cannot wait to hear him speak about the wondrous things he sees!”

Surely he will be changed. Alina spoke assuredly.

Not long after, a small boy appeared darting around the corner. The wind welcomed him with delightful gusts that whisked through his hair. This was Cecil! She could see Neena’s brilliant eyes within him, staring straight ahead. They shone milky blue, lively and yet unused. Soon he came to a halt just short of the blind girl.

“Sorry I’m late. Nasty wind we’ve got, Neena!” he said abruptly, straightening his jacket. “I wish it would go somewhere else!” The wind’s delight vanished.

“Cecil” Neena jumped up. “Oh Cecil! Are you different? What do you see?”

Cecil stared at her strangely, “Am I different? What do you mean? And why are your eyes closed?”

“Nevermind!” she shouted and she pushed him towards the cliff edge where she knew the most wondrous kingdom stretched towards the horizon. “Tell me what you see! Do you see it?” Cecil looked beyond the cliff seeing only a great plain. “I see nothing” he sighed.

Neena stopped her pushing and stood in shock. “You mean you still do not see it?” She begged him to look again and again. Each time, though squinting and straining, he admitted he could not see any city. She pointed towards the trees she knew stood tall. Cecil saw only wood that needed to be chopped for the fire. She pointed to the heavens she knew still shone with faint stars. Cecil saw a faint void, an emptiness upon which the world floated aimlessly. She found and held up one of her valuable stones she always kept nearby. He called it a rock. What she called the tears of the earth, he called dew. “Are you quite done?” he asked and took one more glance towards the invisible kingdom. “Neena, you are so earnest about this kingdom that I never feel homesick until I am with you.” He looked back to Neena who was snuffling. “I long to have the eyes you have, but I came to call you to dinner, not to play pretend and wish fancies. And what is wrong with your eyes anyway?”

Neena turned away. “I…I am just blinded by the sunrise!” she wailed, and she darted off blindly into the forest. Alina the Wind, who had sorrowfully looked on, followed the girl into the trees, leaving a very troubled Cecil alone upon the cliffs. Deep within the woods Alina found the poor girl, crouching beneath a great tree and sniffing uncontrollably. Small puffs of air twirled the girl’s long curls gently.

“He still did not see anything,” she mumbled softly. “What else could I do but give him my eyes?”

It is my fault! The wind replied in anguish. It was never your eyes that held the enchantment. Now I am again homeless and you are sightless evermore! Wherever I offer my mirth, I bring only grief. I will banish myself to farthest corner of the world.

“Stay with me and do not leave!” the girl pleaded, “There’s nothing for me here. All I want is to find a way to that wonderful kingdom, and without you I have no one to guide me.”

You will not be able to see it, the wind replied sorrowfully.

Neena sniffed. “It wasn’t just the sight of it that made me want to be there,” she replied.  

Then I will stay with you, the wind promised, and grieve for both of us until we arrive.

So Neena ever follows Alina the Wind about the cliffs, searching for a way to the brilliant kingdom. Some travelers have caught sight of the girl weeping about the cliff edge and speaking to her invisible companion, yet no one has ever spoken to them. They never stay still for the wind has no home, and no tears can be found, for the girl has no eyes.  

 

 

 

 

   

Author's Note

There are probably some grammatical mistakes, but please just tell me if you enjoyed it. Thanks!

Reviews

[Esteri]

I actually love the starting of all your stories, it makes you think you're going to be in for a real ride. it's all mysterious and stuff.

[M.A. Hughes]

I read your story and I know that you're trying to create a fairytale-like atmosphere. I guess what I need to understand is whether or not this tale is supposed to be a fairytale or a morality tale? This one sounds like the latter. It almost reminds me of something that would be read out of Aesop's Fables :) ! I don't know if that is what you intended, but that what I got from your protagonist (the wind) and the girl, Neena.

One thing that I've noticed is with the couple stories that I've read of yours is that you tend to write weak first paragraphs. For instance, with this story you start out with the following:

I suppose you expect the story to start at the beginning. That is impossible. I know of no story, save one, which starts at the Beginning and that is not the story I wish to tell. No, my story begins somewhere after the Beginning and ends sometime before the End. Therefore, the wind shall carry my story, for who can tell where it begins or ends? Like story itself it flows through time, unending and invisible. At the moment we acknowledge its presence, we find ourselves in the middle of it.

I'd advise getting rid of this paragraph and just starting off with talking about the wind :).

There were a few other points which confused me as the reader:

1. giving the wind a name. You give the wind a name later on in the story. I would say that if you're going to introduce her name, I would do so right away. You don't necessarily have to do this, but it might make your story flow better.

2. the boy, Cecil. I understand that you're trying to demonstrate the boy's ignorance to the Neena's sacrifice, but it doesn't make sense. I assume as the reader that the boy is blind. If this is the case, I would expect that he would be in awe of the kingdom and of his new vision.

If he isn't blind, then I don't understand why the girl would give up her sight for her friend. Overall, I don't understand why the girl would sacrifice her vision unless Cecil is blind. If he is, I don't understand his ignorance or indifference. It just doesn't make sense. If you wanted to make it work, I would say that you need to flesh out the personality and relationship between Cecil and Neena a bit more. It doesn't have to be much, just maybe a few lines of dialogue or some interaction that the wind notices.

3. why would the girl want the wind to accompany her? Why wouldn't she have some form of bitterness agaitnst the wind? Another thing I didn't understand is how Neena can see/sense the wind. Does she have some magical abilities or insight?

There were some good things that I liked about your story. I really enjoyed the beginning and the difference between how the wind envision herself amongst people and the way it actually was. Very good! It is very reminiscent of a fairytale :)!

I also liked the very ending where the people are watching the girl go back and they think that she is talking to herself. Once again, that is something that I think is well-written.

Out of curiosity, what kind of fairytales is your writing trying to mimic? This might give me a better grasp at what you are trying to accomplish with your stories.

Good job! Keep it up :).

[Laureleaf]

Oh, my. Such a sad story. I really enjoyed it. The imagery was lovely, and I didn't catch any grammar mistakes, except thatr 'weaved' should probably be 'wove'. I loved the girl...she had such a beautiful way of looking at the world, and you did a great job of making her speak poetically without sounding at all stilted. Nice job--this really is quite lovely.