The root of charcoal
Written by Chenoa Lewis
Her skin is black, charcoaled-wood kind of black. Her body was mysteriously dumped into an endless sea, pronouncing the blackened state with the contrast of the cerulean waters.
The damp, jagged trunk was visible to any eye that could distinguish the difference between turquoise and blue, brown and black, if we desire to keep our integrity outside the limitations of black and white. Ergo a limbo state is visible to the eyes of the color conscious. The aware, which express individuality in their arduous, daily tasks of defying conformity to separate themselves from the basic personality of those who are incapable of identifying the blatant difference between turquoise and black, brown and blue.
The caliginous trunk soon arrives to shore where she coalesces with the multi-racial sand, diverse, verdant fauna and flora, and the capricious ocean. It’s soaked exterior compliments the colors of the terrain, which gently, unevenly collide with the sea.
However, the trunk is rejected by the soft sand, prominent greenery and — as if it is a chain reaction from one being to the next — chaotic sea, which forced the trunk to shore. The trunk, exhausted from her journey, lies on the bed of sand, catching her breath. But the sand betrays its fellow earthling. It viciously burns the trunk to exchange its once dark chocolate coat to a caramel tan that gradually and intrusively overpowers the state the trunk arrived in.
The poor unwilling trunk is undergoing a transformation determined by the sand that forcefully and tragically burns the once smooth outer layer. The exterior develops scorched blisters that morph into the various colors of the sand, making it impossible for the trunk to resist this detrimental physical alternation.
As the torturous metamorphosis commences, the trunk prays for the sea to save it. She yearns for the tranquil, intimate relationship she shared with the ocean. A bond they unexpectedly created when they were alone in the never-ending mar, observing the sun god set along the horizon. They kissed and made passionate love as they watched the giant, golden sphere drop to another enigmatic side of the universe, illuminating the once dark part of the sea, exaggerating the azure and snow of the sky.
The trunk and sea shared an intimate moment of gratitude and compassion. They entered each other swiftly, relishing in the insanity of pure beauty as an albatross glided above, coalescing with the descending sun. Shortly after the passionate love-making and to the trunk’s disillusionment, the sporadic sea expelled her from his world. The trunk’s presence became intrusive; it was time for her to leave, but she couldn’t fathom why she must depart her newfound infatuation. She was content and enamored by a world exponentially grander than the one she left, the world of a man that seemed limitless in his novelties.
The cool salty breeze and the undulating movements of his waves comforted her, but complacency never lasts in a world of chaos. Trunk was shoved ashore with the gush of a crashing wave, undesired and instantly rejected by burning sand.
The trunk blistered from the heat of the treacherous sand, transforming into a turbulent compilation of red, yellow, orange, blue and purple. She exploded fiercely and freely into a new state, and as she grew the curious sea washed ashore and watched. He deeply regretted his decision to relinquish the trunk to the deceiving sand. He fell madly in love with the freedom she spewed into the universe, with the dynamic beauty she exuded in her constant morphing colors.
This cryptic creature that was once a trunk intrigued him. The ideas of “her” alter when the mind extends past oblivion. The sea wanted to make love to the trunk again and pushed his tide high into her majestic arms, ignoring the cautioning outcries of the sand.
The trunk burned wildly, her hair reaching lengths she once dreamed of touching. But once the sea’s crisp lips touched her body, the trunk dissolved into the thinness of air and into the invincible microorganisms that encompass life. The sea quickly retreated to low tide after realizing the mistake he’d committed, releasing relentless waves from his core. The sand snickered, the shrubbery cheered from afar and an albatross landed next to the crumbling ashes of her.
To their dismay the albatross spotted a small piece of charcoaled wood left behind from the fire. Perhaps this damaged soul was too resilient to be affected by the adversaries and inhumanities of society. The trunk survived the fittest. She became the root of revolution. She transcended.