When she was a little girl, Theo would tell her that he intended to reach the moon. He never truly gave up on that dream of his, even when he triggered and was busy with the constant barrage of hero work. He always aspired to climb higher than ever before. Aisling watched him rise to heights thought impossible, always she watched her brother soar above every expectation placed upon him. If only she saw past his blinding smile. If only she took the threads of doubt that clung to him seriously. Aisling remembers the nights he would dance with her or dance for her. He kept the art of ballet alive for her even when she couldn’t move her head or even manage a smile. She listened to his struggles and used all the strength she could muster at the time to squeeze his hand. Yet, she never thought the threads would form such a vicious web.
She’s seen it a thousand times, the moment he was struck down. When the lightning burned him from the inside out and his will snapped. The webs of doubt coiled and snapped around him, piercing his skin and splattering his blood across the pavement. Slaughtered and expected to rise again but his broken and charred body had lost its will. She waited, and waited, watching
with anticipation for her brother to rise yet again from injuries no human could withstand. Often, she catches herself expecting him to come through her door telling some ridiculous story. Aisling never truly let go of his smile and the comfort in being seen by someone. Theo was an unstoppable force of calm and stability in her life. Even six years after his death, it’s Theo that she looks to for guidance.
In her darkest moments, she’s within her puppet, and dancing on the railing of her balcony. Bathed in the brilliance of a moonlit sky and hearing his laughter in the wind. A symphony of joy that eased every burden on her shoulders. His laughter pierced the room, loud and improper, but Theo in every way. She’d pirouette on the highest ledge she could find, inviting the fall that could end her performance. Hoping and wishing to fall so that she could look up at the sky and see her brother on the other side of the moon. Often, she’d find herself leaping off the edge on purpose. Bathed in the darkness, unseen through the night as she plummeted to the ground.
There was an odd comfort to the moments she let her puppet collide with the ground, an odd sensation of life brought through the loss of one. The death of her brother was her rebirth and death all the same.
Today, she has an audience for the first time in years. Her crew has done well to set up the theater ensuring it is dark aside from the row lights that will guide her guests to their proper seats. As Siren’s song comes to a close and she exits stage, Lights are given their cue, and the white backdrop of the stage has two simple words projected onto it.
“Look up”
Standing on the railing of the upper floor, unafraid of the fall, and welcoming the thrill that it could bring, Poltergeist, ghostly in appearance, blends into the glimmer of the spotlights cast upon her. The watchful eyes from the theater below makes a smile grow on her pale face. She adorns a rather flashy black masquerade mask. Her outfit is a beautiful combination of a tuxedo and a dress. Phantom of the Opera merged with her love for ballet. She dramatically reaches up toward the painted sky of the theater and slowly leans forward into a regal bow, flashing a smile to the small crowd below before she rises back up, and the music begins.
She leaps and spins, feeling a jolting thrill as her skirt twirls through the air and she lands with practiced grace. Poltergeist intends to be seen. She leaps and twirls, stretches, kicks, sweeps, and reaches. They will see nothing but a glimpse of what she can do but she will ensure that glimpse will burn into their memories. She returns to first position, lifts a gloved hand to tip her
hat, and drifts into a series of dramatic pirouettes. Back and forth on the railing, teasing the audience below with each inch closer to the edge, showing off as she breaks into countless spins and dramatic movements. Each movement is charged with emotion she has festered with for over twelve years.
Graceful and elegant with each step and spin. She feels the desperation to be seen. Every movement of her temporary body blasted into motion through the sheer rage and helplessness she has drowned in. Confident and practiced with each leap. Aisling has spent six years honing each movement in this body. Sleepless nights screaming to the skies above to stop looking
down on her. Endless nightmares pretending to be asleep as her mother sobs and curses her very life beside her. She lets them believe this is nothing more than a performance. Six years ago today she lost her world to the tangled webs of expectation. The music builds, a practiced dip, and her biggest leap yet. Aisling was never meant to reach the sky but Poltergeist fears no fall.
As her feet leave the railing, the light and music cut off for just a second. Enough, to give a shock. Then they return, and someone gasps and screams as she falls, holding her form and spinning for the majority of her descent. Panic shoots through those unsure what to expect in the split seconds she is gracefully pirouetting her way into the ground. Aisling melts away and
Poltergeist takes her place. Unafraid, confident, more herself than she’s been for most of her life. Mere moments before she lands, she returns her feet to first position and tips her hat to the small crowd, and she vanishes through the carpeted ground leaving nothing but her top hat behind as evidence of her existence. She’s made her spectacle and she’ll leave them to question what comes next for now.
Beneath the ground where Aisling belongs, Poltergeist closes her eyes and questions why she ever hesitated this long. Unlike her brother, a fall could never affect her, and the damned webs of expectation have already ripped her apart. This is a damn thrill an adventure into experiences she refuses to miss anymore. She floats beneath the ground, finding her way to a nearby alleyway, and phasing back out of the ground. Without an ounce of hesitation, she grins ear to ear and does a gleeful little spin a few inches off the ground. She’s done it! She’s finally shown off what she can do to someone! Like jolts of lightning, Poltergeist feels so incredibly happy. It’s near startling how much joy she’s feeling. For the first time in so damn long, she’s done something that she cares about. She’s allowed herself to finally be someone else even if just for a moment.
Welcome to the Cardinal Collection! We are the Literary Magazine, and this year we are working with the Newspaper to bring you our magazine! Our magazine is a collection of fictional writing pieces and art submitted by students. Our collection works a little differently than the Newspaper. We accept submissions not just from members of the club, but also from the student body in general! No commitment, no stress, no extra club. This is an easy way to get published! We accept poetry, short stories, excerpts, and art! Scan the QR code or visit the form here to submit your works. You must be logged on to your AACPS email to submit. And if you would like to join our club to help edit and put together the collection, stop by room A233 on Thursdays during Red Week!
