"8 to 6": The Writers' Spotlight

8 to 6

8 AM.

The sun would’ve already risen,
Its honey-colored rays
Covering the walls in patches of glistening light
That shimmered like gold.

A little girl would lay
In the sunlight that seeped through the window,
Sheltered by a blanket
With elegant flowers beautifully imprinted on it.

She would lay and clutch
A small bear
She called “Mr. Fluffington”
That she considered her best friend in the world.

Her small fingers would poke at the bear’s stomach
As a soothing lullaby would play,
Not to lull her to sleep,
But to fish her back
From worlds of
“One sheep, two sheep, three sheep”
And “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”.

Getting ready, she would gaze into the mirror,
Admiring her new satin dress
Covered in frills and ribbons.
And how her dazzling eyes matched the brown of the dress.
People would smile just by looking at her.
She was beautiful and she held that truth close to her heart.

Drawings of the very same sun that she woke up to
And the very same bear that she held lovingly
Were pinned to the fridge
Along with a note from Grandma.

Hours she would spend
Giggling as she rose higher and higher in the air on a swing.
Or, she would be at school,
Learning to spell her name with the squiggles they called letters and words.

From all these things, in just one morning,
She would no longer feel so little.

6 AM.

The sun was just about to rise,
Its harsh, blinding light
Searing through her eyes
As her head pounded.

The same girl would lay,
On a bed after hours of tossing and turning.

History 101 and Chemistry Simplified
Would lay next to her.
Books where Belle, just like other fellow aristocrats, perished in the French Revolution
And where a fairy’s pixie dust was just a chemical reaction
Would cloud her memories of her stuffed bear.

Mr. McFluffington now lay in a small box deep in her closet,
Doomed to never again wake up to honey-colored sunlight.
The only realm where he could crawl out
Was the same realm from which the girl
Was stolen every morning.

Getting dressed, she would gaze at the mirror
As if she were gazing at a spoon,

Her face distorted and stretched out.
“Why are my cheeks so chubby and my forehead so big?"
Her stomach enlarged,
“I look fat in this dress.”
Specks of what looked like rust appeared on the spoon.
"My skin looks so dry today, I can never be pretty."

Papers marked with A’s
Resided on her desk,
Along with an agenda
She never managed to follow.
The girl would spend her days
Riding on a boat of A’s,
Constantly reading

And re-reading
And working
And re-re-reading
And writing
And typing
All to keep the boat afloat.

“She used to be sweet”, they said.
“But now, she is bitter”, they declared.

But they were unaware that
She was tired.
That she wanted to rest and shut her eyes,
Without the sun rushing through,
Pulling her away from the place she loved most.

She knew that never again could she sit on a swing the same way she used to.
Never again could she proudly pin her drawings to the fridge the same way she used to.
Never again could she love herself and that satin dress the same way she used to.
Never again could strangers smile just by looking at her the same way they used to.
Never again.

And yet they all asked, “Where did that little girl go?”

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