I grew up believing that monsters lived under the bed, and I was right. They lurk under beds, in closets, and in shodow protected corners, sharpening their claws and dampening their snouts in preparation for a human shaped meal. The monsters I saw peeking out of my dark, cramped spaces, were put in their places by my parents many years ago. My parents have been hiding their demons away, falsely assuming that what can't be seen, can't cause pain. It wasn't until it was too late that they realized the monsters never actually disappeared. Instead they sat silently, festering in the dark, waiting for the day they could make the world even scarier for their captors' children. Thus the monsters of my parents' past became yet another burden to be passed down to the younger generation. Creatures I then had to fight... or once again hideaway.

The worst part is that this is a cycle that is almost impossible to break. It’s not until someone too burdened for their youth comes that there’s ever any chance at salvation. This prophesied child will have to use courage and wisdom from a thousand lives unlived, to face our demons. Unfortunately, people like that don’t come very often. And when they do they don’t usually survive the battles.

This is day six of my watch, and she is just as exotic as she was yesterday, and every day since I began my vigil. Today she wears a green satin shirt with wide sleeves that billow as she moves. Henna snakes up her arm, it’s stain darker than the brown of her skin. She’s beautiful, but it’s not her looks that transfix me so. It’s the way she carries herself.

The girl moves with such confidence, bordering on temerity. Her presence gives color to a dull room, and she knows it. She is light as it fractures through a prism. Her effect is mesmerizing, and nearly impossible to ignore.

This self-assurance of hers, which could easily be used as a weapon, is instead used to lift up those around her. She draws others from their shells with sweet smiles and delicately placed compliments, until they too are a force to be reckoned with.

There are some who fear her abilities. They say it’s not good for girls to be this bold, not in our world where confidence is mistaken for impudence. What they avoid admitting is that they aren’t afraid for her sake. No, they are afraid for theirs. They’re petrified of how her light changes their lives. It frightens them to think of how they’d have to reshape themselves to fit into the world she would create.

So instead of acknowledging their own anxieties, they project them onto her in an attempt to stifle her flames. To prevent her from growing into the raging wildfire she’s destined to become. However, she is a star whose light shines long after it’s source is gone, and try as they might, it cannot be dimmed.

It’s a weight pushing down on me. An invisible force so powerful even the strongest men stagger under its load.

It’s the weight that keeps me up at night. I stay awake, constantly pressing against it, unwilling to let it crush me. I push against it cause its what I’m supposed to do. It’s what everyone wants me to do, but I’m not sure it’s what I want to do.

Sometimes it’s easy to fight it. Sometimes I can find the strength within me. Sometimes I can draw strength from others... Sometimes.

But most times I’m on my own. And most times I feel hollowed out. Empty. At times like that it’s easy to feel like letting go. Easy to hope for an excuse to stop fighting. ’Cause maybe if I stop pushing, stop fighting, stop struggling against this weight I’ll be full again.

So I stopped pushing, stopped trying, and let the weight crush me down, compressing and shattering what’s left of my soul. It was surprising how quickly I was destroyed. It took a few seconds for my entire self to splinter into fractions of what I used to be.

It’s as if I have pieces missing. And those missing pieces left holes for my good parts to escape and the bad to come rushing in.

My hopelessness came creeping around the corners of my mind. Then came the hatred poking holes in my heart. Following closely behind was self-doubt picking and pulling at my brain. And finally pain scratching it’s ever changing moods into my skin.

But when all those feelings had their fair share of fun they left through the cracks I didn’t try to patch up. And replacing them came a blanket of darkness. It was thick and ever growing, devouring what little light I had to begin with.

The thoughts and feelings that used to occupy my space were gone forever, unable to find their way through the darkness that replaced them. So here I still am, more hollow than ever before, left waiting for the darkness to swallow me whole.

There was a symphony of sounds, in my little nook of trees. The wind whispered as it weaved its way through the leaves. Cicadas buzzed and moaned from their hideaways of dirt and grass. Behind my back, the sound of cars speeding down the street cut off the welcoming jingle of the ice cream truck as it made its daily rounds. Up above, dark clouds swirled. They taunted me with the promise of rain, so I sat silently, willing it not to come. I didn’t want to be forced from my place of refuge. It was in that spot, sitting on the platform to the slide, that I was able to think, relax, and enjoy time alone. It was my safe place, untouched by my siblings and their clamor.

I found my sanctuary the summer before eighth grade. We had just recently moved, this time to a large county near the city of Fredericksburg. The new house was bigger than the last, but not nearly large enough for my siblings and I. In a house where the walls were thin and the vents carried the tiniest sound, every second of every day was filled with obnoxious, never ending noise. There was no escape. Not even the closed and locked door of my bedroom could keep their fierce cacophony from invading. No headphones were strong enough to block out the aggravated shouts of my siblings arguments. No room was empty of their pointless jabber and inconclusive disputes. I needed an escape, but freedom always seemed out of reach, or so I thought.

It was a humid afternoon, only a few weeks after school had started. Everyone was extra stressed, which in my house, translated to extra loud and argumentative. I needed an outlet before I erupted in a flood of frustration and anger. I decided to go out, get some fresh air, and examine my previously unexplored neighborhood. Swiftly, I told my dad where I was going, grabbed my bike, and charged out the door.

I was a bullet speeding down the sidewalk of the quiet neighborhood. Everything was a blur of colors. The green of trees, red doors, white picket fences, and the rusty brown of brick houses. The colors all swirled and danced in my peripheral vision. Suddenly, between green leaves, I saw a glimpse of bright yellow, orange, and a streak of grey. With a jolt, I brought my bike to a stop. I dismounted, my curiosity getting the best of me, and walked over to the border of trees that partially concealed the unseemingly colors.

What I saw seemed out of place in a neighborhood such as mine. Behind the row of evergreens, was a miniature, fenced-in graveyard. Small headstones, no larger than two feet, were scattered about, nestled safely in a carpet of pine needles. Each headstone held its own story, one I was eager to learn. I ventured farther into the unknown, past the graveyard, and towards what looked to be a playground. Being in such close proximity to the cemetery, it’s bright happy colors seemed out of place. But at the same time, the contrast in moods was oddly appealing. I’m not certain of what kept me in the miniscule area, but I felt tied to it. Maybe it was the quiet of the hidden playground, or it could have been the millions of stories the graveyard held. Perhaps it was the calm and serenity the area insinuated, or the sense of freedom this idle space granted me. Whatever it was that kept me there, I’m thankful that it did.

That area became my oasis. When my house felt too full to contain another being, or when my head was tearing at the seams with the amount of stress I was under, I escaped to the hidden playground. There, I was able to think and problem solve. The only noises were those of nature. The area was free of shouted arguments, escalating debates, and angry door slams. In that area, I could be inspired, focussed, and care-free. While I was there, I lived in the moment. I pushed school, my family, and any other annoyances out of my mind. The hidden playground was where I felt I belonged. There I could relax and fully focus on my goals and aspirations. I was able to kick my duties and obligations from the spotlight and give my wants and desires a chance to shine.

Humans are the most advanced of Earth‘s creatures. I’ve heard it a million times in many different ways, but I often wonder if it’s true. Whenever I hear a thing like that it seems as though the word ‘advanced’ is used in the way someone might use ‘better’. It just shows how we humans see ourselves as the superior race. But we can’t possibly be superior. Not in this world. Not anymore. How can we believe ourselves to be the best when we are constantly killing one another and destroying the planet we take refuge? Yes, we’ve learned how to heal our wounds and build towers that touch the sky, but don’t all of our advancements eventually hurt us in the end?

Less people die from wounds and illness, but overpopulation creates higher death and crime rates.

We can travel across a continent in just a few hours, but pollution destroys our land, skies, and seas.

We produce an abundance of food quickly, yet all around the world people starve, and the ones who don’t die from gluttony or cancer.

We are seperated from one another to create peaceful communities ruled by one, but we ignore those who need our help and battle those who don’t.

We do or don’t do these things and the world dives head first into chaos, yet we continue to call ourselves superior. We continue to pretend like we have control. Like we have all the answers to the puzzle that is life. But if we were really superior, why are we the only ones destroying this Earth? Why are we the only species unable to survive with what was given to us naturally? The answer is simple. We aren’t superior, we’re just a bunch of fools who think we can do better.