Soul of Orion

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The Story

Once upon a time, there was a little girl with sun-kissed skin, dirt covered hands and salty hair. She’d often spend her long hot days conjuring up fantastic realms featuring magical beings and melodic chants. Her days were filled with small adventures – which obviously seemed epic to her little imaginative mind – exploring the beach, her small backyard and a store room nested in one of the corners of her home. The store room seemed to her a gold mine that inhabited tons of treasures waiting to be found. When the days were too hot to go exploring outside, the little girl would step inside the store room and thrust herself onto the piles and piles of forgotten gems. On such expeditions, she’d find old photographs tinted in sepia tones and nostalgic dust. Other days, she’d find beautifully broken pottery desperately waiting to be found and loved again. Sometimes, by mere luck, chance or perhaps solely due to the pure determination of her spirit, she’d stumbleupon a jewel she’d not recognize or even understand. These were the findings she treasured the most. She’d gathered her most prized possessions and place them in her treasure trove which she hid under her bed.

At night, the little girl would often pretend (believe) she’s a he**in of an epic adventure story and every day of her life is an episode featuring her fabulous escapades. On some nights, when she couldn’t sleep, she’d walk to her window and witness pure, silvery magic of the moon loving down on the mystical ocean. While witnessening such magic, she’d pretend she is some princess warrior just waiting to venture off into the distant worlds full of epic journeys and magical discoveries.

On days when her body couldn’t keep up with her hyperactive personality, the little girl would lock herself in her room, turn on the stereo playing vintage bollywood tunes, and pick up a book from a huge pile of novels scattered around on the floor of her room and escape, once again, embarking off to another fantastic realm.

However, you see, nothing about her escapades or adventures resembled any actual glory. The store room was a forgotten place where her parents abandoned all the things they acquired over the years, not wanting them but not ready to part with just yet. Her backyard was a small piece of land that was more concrete than grass. The trees that grew on her street and around her were barely taller than ten feet and there was scarcely any woods or forests to be found in hundreds of miles. The moon she oh so loved was the same moon that shined on the rest of the world. The tea-stained books she hid herself in were the same books every kid daunted and avoided.

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