from the valley to the stars {shelby!standalone}

shelby {♔} leviane

I wanted to be light.

Because light was redemption, and light was hope.

Hope was the flicker of my sister’s eyes at the age of ten, when stars shone with a shade of beauty rather than a haunting reminder. We pointed them out one by one, giving them names of our own when Cha couldn’t remember the technical name for each. They had been trivial at the time, reminiscent of imaginary friends we never had, for the need for them had never existed. We had an endless expanse of sky above our heads, and in turn we never needed anything else.

Hope was the embrace of my sister’s arms at the age of twelve, when nightmares racked my mind from sundown to sunup. She would pull me close, twisting strands of disheveled hair round her nimble fingers as my tears stained her shirt. (“They’re so real, Cha.”)

(“But you’re safe, Shelby, and you’re here, and nothing can hurt you when I’m here.”)

Oh, how close home and here were aligned, as if the press of her chin to the top of my head was more of a welcome sign than any doormat. But truly she was home, for when the walls that held up a shingled roof failed to do the job we found comfort in each other, with her hands stretched to the night sky as I watched in awe, eyes lit up with admiration for a hero who would never be. Those were the nights that fear was overrun by trust, for even though the night chilled my bones with an uneasiness that left me clinging to my sister’s sleeve, there was something about her—about the unshakable calm that overtook the air around her, that covered every sense of anxiety and caused my feet to follow her in a mindless pattern, and if she was to walk off the edge of the world, I would have been right behind her.

Hope was not the shaking of my sister’s fingers at the age of fifteen as she traced patters on our walls with the intent of accomplishing nothing at all. For Cha Leviane had taken on a new set of morals with her new identity, and neither fit the heart of the sister that I once knew. I’d sit beside her and beg, fingers tapping at her shoulder and pulling at her sleeve, and with each passing second the desperation in my tone became more evident, because my sister was there simply because she had to be, for if she was gone the night took on the form of a monster I couldn’t face even if I swung my biggest sword.

(“Cha you have to help me. Please you have to—you have to do something.”)

Hope was not the swinging of the hammock at the age of seventeen, when my sister spent more time holding onto something she could never touch than she did indoors. And I couldn’t do anything but watch from the window with nothing but a blank thought on my mind and a heaviness in my heart. I couldn’t do anything on the rare occasions when my sister did make her way through the door and into bed, either, for she said nothing—did nothing but turn out the light.

Even then, when the thought had settled in the back of my mind that a monster had found its way into the soul of Cha Leviane, I thought we were safe from the demons that hid under the bed.

Hope was not the shaking of my breaths at the age of eighteen, when my sister’s words were found again at quite possibly the worst time of all.

(“I volunteer.”)

Oh, but my dear, deranged sister, there’s no saving grace to be found.

I wanted to be light.

Because was light was redemption, and light was hope.

But when a flame is extinguished, so are both of the former ideas.

I suppose it’s fitting to say I was left in the dark as I watched the light flicker from my sister’s eyes. They say the world spins in slow motion when your heart speeds up, and this is truly so, for my mother’s arms upon my shoulder did nothing to stop me from flinging myself towards the dingy television set in front of us. My body shivered at the press of my fingertips upon the glass, hands longing to run fingers through the mess of dark hair that even now, hid her from a watching world. I could hear nothing but the sound of blood pounding through my veins, the screaming of my sister’s name only background noise against the former as I thought a raise of voice would bring back something that had already been so long gone.

(“I’m not looking for closure, Shelby, I’m looking for myself.”)

But Cha Leviane could never be found, for there was more to her mind than stars in the sky, and in the same way I could only count thirty-seven of the latter, I could only hope that she found the missing piece of the broken soul she called her own. Cha Leviane was something of a mystery, and I could never solve nor end it because it would not be fair to the mind that was her own. She told me that she shone bright in the moon and every star, and I believed her because it was the only thing to do.

She wanted to be light, once.

Because light was safety, and light was love, even in the darkest of times.

Love was not the tears that were streaming down my face as hallways flew by in a blur, chest heaving as my mind spun, every part of my body trying to grab hold of the reality of a situation that should only be found in nightmares. (“I’m here, Shelby, I’m here and you’re going to be okay.”)

(Oh, but my dear, deranged sister I simply am not).

The door is not the barrier that stops my pounding feet, but rather the sight of a full moon atop the trees. There’s stars to be seen in every direction, and for once not even the dim streetlight can turn them away, because tonight, the sky mourns for the one who’s gone to live among them. There’s a reminder in the night, a signature scrawled upon its pages. My sister had once wanted to scratch her name upon the night sky, and with shaking, bleeding fingers she fulfilled this.

For there was no end to Cha Leviane, only a shift in tense where it was due, for instead of seeing her name etched in broken dreams and sleepless nights, I instead found it in a place that I feared most.

Cha Leviane had never been protecting me from the monsters under the bed, no, she had been protecting me from herself. She had hidden me from every broken memory and haunted place in an attempt to shield me from a heart that had always been heavy.

Yet despite the pause I take on route to a different destination, my feet manage to find their way to the hammock still strung between two trees, imprinted still with loose strings and the spirit of a sister who would never be, and as I run my fingers over each and every of the former the words which I had once spoken to the shell of my sister ring loudly in my ears.

(“I want you to watch the sunrise with me.”)

I had wanted to be light once, but instead I slept in the dark tonight, out on the hammock where my sister once lay, because tonight I was not questioning the existence of the monsters under my bed, no, I was waiting for them to take me to the chasm too.