northword: A Literary Journal Of Canada’s North
darkness in light chris bowers
She looked up at the night sky, shivering as the wind picked up and the tall, thin trees around her began to groan like giants awakened from a long slumber. A soft whisper turned into a loud hiss and the cold autumn air threw
brown crisp leaves down at her in an effort to bring her attention back to
the ground, but it wasn’t enough to break her upwards gaze. She crossed her arms to fend off the chill, took a deep breath and exhaled, releasing a dancing swirl of mist which quickly disappeared into the emptiness above. Empty. A deep gravelly voice boomed in her head and her eyes darted from each
flickering light in a panic. There was nothing between her and those stars: no walls, no ceiling, no shield of any kind. Her hand stretched out as if she could pluck them from the sky but, despite her lengthy arms, she found they
were just out of reach. Her breath caught and she gasped for air. Her pulse quickened and sweat rolled over her forehead. Laughter. Her eyes dropped to the light coming from the shallow stone pit nearby. The
gentle pop and crackling of tree sap coming from the logs on the fire in front of her caught her attention. Unfamiliar faces illuminated by the soft warm glow slowly began to come in to focus as she blinked in an effort to clear
her weary eyes. She was sitting in a circle with them. She remembered now - this was her first time at camp. The girls around her were clapping their hands and singing; each one of them smiling, cheeks red from the icy air.
She shrank back into herself, bringing her knees up to her chest and once
again wrapping her arms around her. She shuddered. The singing continued
to ring out around her, becoming more and more muffled as her eyes got lost in the flames. She watched peacefully as the amber glow swayed back and forth.
“You ok?” the girl next to her suddenly asked, nudging her with a sharp elbow.
Once again, her gaze did not break. A small grin appeared on her face and her lips slowly parted to speak.
“Have you ever wondered what keeps the fire going?” she asked in a quiet
voice. “There is wood. There is heat. There is light. But what is it? We can see it but we can’t touch it. It has no substance. Where does it come from? Does it
even exist at all? Is it a ghost?” her voice wavered as she squinted at the light. The laughter and singing stopped. The faces were staring now. The only sound filling the air was the crackle of the fire which, in itself, seemed to be
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