Make the Attempt

“The meaning of life, you ask?” The old sage mumbled quietly, though Orion had no memory of asking. Then, seemingly to themself, the sage continued in their mumblings, “Perhaps a wiser one than I would refrain…” Orion’s heart strummed in anticipatory impatience, and as the mumblings rambled into indistinguishable clues, she cast her eyes around the secret club to where she’d been suddenly summoned.

Shadowlight danced from candles and smokey vapor hid faces and figures. From somewhere, a simple keying melody leaked, whether from enshrouded pianist or hidden record, Orion could not discern. She felt alive in this moment, chainlinked memories flashing through her mind. “You summoned me,” she suddenly urged. “Enough of the riddles; tell me the meaning of this.”

Underneath masking hood, the sage’s eyes mimed the dance of the candle and fixed Orion in their gaze. “Ay that’s it. Ask for what you want, seize opportunity.” On with it, Orion nearly yelled at this shadowy figure whose only feature she could judge were those steadfast smoldering eyes. But, the sage continued: “As for this meeting? A message: you’re close.” With that, the sage disappeared along with the rest of the club, haunted in a cloud of smoke.

Puzzle pieces of dream avalanched through her fingers as Orion fumbled to cling to as many as possible. Great satisfaction, a manila envelope, the elusive figure. What had she been doing? What are you telling me, dreamland?

She rose, brushed her teeth after a brief breakfast, and went to work, the pieces she’d so desperately saught once again freely tumbling away…

She’d felt reborn recently, her mind a constant blazing whir unchained following a long dormancy in which it had forgotten itself to darkness. A marathon she’d run after months-long training, simply because she wanted to. Now her brain was moving on, seeking a new marathon, but ever-present work and other obligations pierced her lungs with cracked ribs. Just excuses, she told herself… but in these moments, the thoughts had always ended there, never daring to engage with the second, world-changing clause. The monkey in her ribs ever clattering the bones with anxiety was the third clause she’d also refused to link.