Matthew Lee, aged 16 years

Imagine

They were still there when I came back from taking Fred for a walk in the dunes.   Two huddled figures on the beach, wearing a school uniform that I did not recognise.  They were watching the breakers pound the shore – they weren’t running around or talking or eating, they were just staring at the green-brown sea.  And it was weird, I thought, because all the schools around here had broken up a couple of weeks ago. Fred trotted over to say hello and to sniff around. The girl ignored him and turned around to glare at me with dark, accusing eyes, while the boy, who was much bigger, continued to observe the murky waves. Suddenly Fred got spooked and started to growl.  I trudged across the sand and grabbed him by the collar but even as I pulled him away he just kept on growling. It was then, in a flash of recognition, that I saw the boy’s face.  I should have obeyed my first instinct and run, run like there was no tomorrow, but I didn’t.

“What you staring at?” snapped the girl. …

Silence.

My eyes were fixed on the boy, brain grasping reality, images flooding my eyes, hands tightening - fuelled by fear.

Carved and rutted, the boy’s skin was covered in a maze of scars. Some healed by dark scabs, others blazing in the sun; that wasn’t even the start of my horror. Individual scars combined to form a gruesome collage. Again, my muted instincts told me to feel repulsion, disgust at the teenage boy’s face… but I couldn’t, it was too stunning.

The wounds formed a perfect sunrise, weaving to form the undulations of a beach. The contrast of colour was perfect; dark scabs for a beach and unhealed lashes created a bright sun on his forehead. Undoubtedly, a deliberate design that was unnerving and perfect in equal measure. Fred’s whining broke my shocked silence; his collar had tightened like a noose during my initial disbelief.

“I said what you staring at?” The girl demanded.

“I…I…was…” It took a mammoth effort to tear my gaze from the boy and face his companion.

Her two dimensional demeanour was a stark contrast to the other teenager. The only real similarity between them was a dull school uniform, with the Latin motto Vomica sententia parfum emblazonled under the school badge. Brown hair tied back neatly, flawless visage devoid of make up, emotionless, black eyes set in a cemented expression; everything about her screamed boredom and mediocrity. I felt an urge to yawn simply by looking at her. To stop the temptation I gabbled an explanation.

“Walking my dog, Fred…. by the way not me; the dog’s Fred. It’s…ahem… not like I’m a dog…” My voice trailed off as I realised that I had not answered her original question.

“Whatever your name is, just go away,” Fred resumed growling at her, “and take that dog with you.”

Her suggestion seemed like a good idea but the boy’s hypnotic scars kept me rooted to the spot. His lifeless eyes staring at the murky waves…lifeless eyes?

This time fear got the better of me. I stumbled back, toppling over Fred and landing with a sandy thud.

“His eyes…”

The girl stood passively, not a flicker of recognition or wry smile crossed her expression.

“Someone finally noticed your little stunt,” she told the boy.

“He did this? How… why would anyone do this to themselves?”

Empty grey eyes fixed onto mine and I was faced by the extent of cruelty and beauty on his face.

“I could not live with a manufactured façade.” Every time his mouth moved, the scars flowed like waves, “nor could I bear seeing the world through tinted eyes, a world where rules crush our imagination.”

“It’s what you call reality,” the girl stated.

The boy ignored her. “Your name is Matthew?” The surprises were really piling up, I nodded.

He mulled the words over, whispering them, forming an image in his mind. “I can make you a warrior, a fighter, a Samaritan of kindness. My imagination can create an unseen Matthew but a Matthew all the same.” He smiled mysteriously, “And that is my blessing, an imagination with no bounds.”

“Vomica sententia parfum” muttered the girl, “He’s not a warrior just a boy who should mind his own business.

“But he can see,” replied the boy.

“See what?” I asked.

“The sea, a vessel, sustaining life minute and massive,” he said dreamily.

Once again the girl interjected in her usual emotionless manner. “I told you there’s nothing there but dark water.”

“No…”

“Nothing but salt and dead seaweed.”

“No…” the boy gasped, as if each monotonous word was a hammer blow to his imagination. Anger replaced my confusion; he was being tormented. I wished Fred would scare the stony girl with some barking but the useless dog was grooming himself in the shade of the dunes.

I sat next to the boy, the dreary girl probably would have glared at me but facial expressions were beyond her. “I can see it, the sea gulls…erm… calling freedom above the emerald sea.” The words had a soothing effect; he returned to his watch over the waves.

“The horizon,” I followed his line of sight and found only a setting sun.

“Armies of spires piercing the clouds, eternal lights, a symphony of colours pounding the sky…”

“I don’t see anything,” the girl’s words sounded distant as the world paled against his speech.

“Shimmering gold stones rise from a precipice…” Each letter and syllable was heavy with emotion. Pieces of a jigsaw gliding effortlessly into place, flowing over my senses. A strange tingle started at my fingertips before enveloping my body, a sign there really was truth in his description.

“Blazing beings mingle under the roaring sun, outshining the warm glow…”

Suddenly I could see it. A city so pure and joyful, a place dancing with light etched like a mirage on the horizon.

“I...I can see it.”

“Serene songs, calling…”Sweet voices laced the air, singing the essence of life. Tears burned my blind eyes; my emotions overpowered by the unrelenting force of his mind.

“It’s beautiful, so beautiful.” I looked but could not find the boy. He was gliding across the immaterial sea, the Latin words under his uniform badge melting. No longer a boy but a deity. No longer blind- his eyes full of life, no longer a scarred face- a glowing picture of imagination. Reality seemed unimportant as he stood in the City of Bliss.

“Now can you see,” his voice was powerful but still had the dreamy sound, “can you see what imagination can do.” I nodded, spent tears rolling down my face and in a final burst of light he was gone.

I collapsed on the beach, panting for breath. The horizon was its usual meek self, the girl was sitting motionless on the dunes while Fred continued grooming as if nothing had happened. The boy was nowhere to be seen.

“What the hell happened?” I commanded. She turned to face me, impassive as usual.

“The mind works in funny ways, I tried to keep it at bay. An uncreative barrier around him but what they say is true, nothing is more powerful than an idea whose time has come.”

She turned to leave. “Wait! I still don’t understand…” and then came the fright of my life; the girl smiled.

“Vomica sententia parfum” she said, “curse the thought of creation.” And then, she to, was gone.

Matthew Lee