Vachon Imagined

She looked down at her arm.

At first, it was only a noticing.

Then curiosity.

Something had burrowed beneath her skin.

She leaned closer.

Hmm… what is this?

Her gaze rested lightly upon it, the way morning light rests upon a stone.

But the longer she looked, the more the looking changed.

Curiosity narrowed into scrutiny.

Scrutiny sharpened into alarm.

The same eyes remained, yet something within them had shifted. They no longer saw; they hunted.

Get it out.

Make it stop.

Leave me alone.

Her fingers became desperate little creatures, clawing at the place beneath her skin, convinced that peace lay just beyond one more scratch.

The thing beneath her skin.

The fear that surrounded it.

The frantic need to escape it.

Each fed the other until they could no longer be told apart.

Then, almost without permission, exhaustion arrived.

Not victory.

Not defeat.

Only exhaustion.

Her hands became still.

Her breathing softened.

The storm spent itself because storms cannot rage forever.

She looked again.

There was only skin.

Clear.

Quiet.

Receiving the light without argument.

Whatever shape her life entered, it entered also.

Whatever season passed over her, it passed over that same untroubled surface.

Nothing had changed.

Except the one who was looking.