“What’s wrong with you today?”

I looked up.

A friend was

looking at me

with worried concern.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you just don’t seem to be here today. Like you’re lost in your head.”

“I haven’t had coffee yet.”

She shrugged and

made a face.

“It’s more than that. It’s like you’re not really here.”

I shrugged and

went on with

my day. At

first, I didn’t

pay her words

any attention. However,

when my fingers

began to slide

into the keyboard

instead of hitting

the keys, I

wondered. Looking at

my fingers, I

noticed that they

had grown dim,

there, but not.

I could see

the outline of

them, I could

feel them, but

they weren’t visible.

She came over

to me again

and looked closely

at me with

growing concern. Reaching

out, she touched

my face with

soft, careful fingers.

“What’s wrong your skin? It’s clear.”

“Clear how?”

“Like, it’s like your face is made of glass.”

I ran to

the washroom and

looked in the

mirror. I saw

that she was

telling the truth.

The skin of

my face had

gone dim, indeed

clear as glass.

I wondered if,

somehow, I was

growing invisible. I

finished my day,

wondering if more

of me would

cease to exist

by the days

end. There was

a heat growing

in my stomach.

It pulsed inside

of me and

I could feel

it snaking its

way further inside

my body with

each pulse. I

left the building

and stumbled outside.

The skies were

grey and the

air cold. Snow

was falling down

like fairy dust.

The heat growing

in me pulsed

again and despite

myself, I cried

out loud, heedless

of people looking.

“What’s happening to me?”

An older woman

stopped and looked

at me. She

smiled kindly at

me and came

closer. She held

out her hand

and touched my

face. I was

astounded to see

wetness on her

fingers and wondered

when I had

started crying. She

gave me another

kind, beautiful smile.

“Don’t you know? This is your first time isn’t it?”

I shook my

head. I didn’t

know what she

was talking about.

“The first time?”

“You’re letting your light shine. I can see it there inside you.”

“You can?”

“Yes. It’s so bright, I can hardly look at you, but I want to.”

“I don’t understand.”

She smiled again.

“Well, look around you. Only grey, cold skies. People need light. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that you were a light bringer?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“That pulse inside you? Let it out, set it free.”

“But my body…”

“Will go back to the way it was afterwards. Here, I’ll shine with you.”

She took my

hand and I

watched as the

opaqueness of her

skin faded and

she too was

as there and

not there as

I was. She

smiled at me.

“Come on now, let it out. Shine bright, little sun.”

I watched as

her own light

began to shine,

first a growing

sliver of sunlight,

then a blinding

flash of brightness.

My own light

responded in kind

and the pulse

thickened, intensified, grew.

The light shone

from me as

if it was

always meant to

do so, filling

the skies, once

grey and dreary,

with bright and

beautiful sunlight. It

streamed from me,

from the woman

beside me, and

I could hear

music, as if

a choir was

singing around us.

As quickly as

it had come,

the light faded.

I stood there,

holding the woman’s

hand. I could

see my fingers

again, could see

hers. The smile

I wore on

my face was

like its own

kind of light.

“Thank you.”

I said. She

smiled once more.

“No thanks needed. I just gave you the push you needed. There’s so much light in you. You have to share if every once in a while.”

As she started

to walk away,

the snow began

to fall in

heavier, thicker flakes.

I called after her.

“Will I see you again?”

She turned back

and smiled again.

“Just let your light shine. I’ll see it where ever I am.”

She turned again

and walked away

and was soon

lost in the

falling snow. I

stood there, the

pulse still moving

through me. I

was happier than

I had been

in a long

time. I looked

to where her

silhouette was still

walking farther away.

“Shine bright.”

I said.