Darkness. Darkness is all I see. I’m hidden in this bubble. I have one peephole, to peer out into the world. My bubble is translucent, but I’ve attached so many signs and lights to show everyone I’m alright, that I see nothing but darkness. I squint into the hole and see others with their own gaudy signs and lights attached to their bubbles. They talk to me, at least, they talk to my signs.
We all live in bubbles, but I call them prisons. Prisons serve two purposes. One, to contain. Two, to separate and protect the inmates from others. I hate this prison. I love this prison. I cannot make up my mind.
Tonight the moon is full, blushing down at our signs. We flatter her and envy her. How free and happy she is. Yet something tells me, behind that glow, she too is stuck within that globe. Her facade may be more superior than ours, but it’s a facade no less. The others ooh and ahh with jealousy but I don’t envy her. She may have a bigger, grander prison, but I know it’s only a reminder that there could’ve been others to share it with. The bigger the space, the bigger the reminder that she’s alone. So I am content with my small prison. For now.
Instead of gazing adoringly at her, I curl in my loneliness and fall into a restless sleep. Morning came and I felt particularly down. It happened at times. It was almost like an unspoken shroud had been wrapped around me, suffocating me. Nearly every one of us had claustrophobia. It varied from time to time, sometimes it felt stifling and at other times it felt bearable. Today, it was stifling.
Today was just one of those days. A day where I needed to scream. I let all the noise escape from my lungs, I pounded on the walls that wouldn’t give in, I clawed at the signs on the other side until my nails peeled. Let me out. Don’t leave me here. I cried out without even knowing who could hear me, for this bubble was sound-proof. Finally, I slumped in defeat. I hadn’t always been like this.
None of us had. I had been born out of a shell. I had breathed the fresh air. I had been happy. I had also been vulnerable. Susceptible to being hurt. I had been attacked one day. By someone I had loved. Bruises covered me and they screamed at everyone passing by that I was weak. So like the others here, I had bought the bubble that promised safety and security. A shelter where you will never be hurt again! The slogan was oh so tempting. When I had first received one, I had been joyful. I was never getting hurt again.
It did make me happy for a while, it did protect me. Yet it also sent away everyone that I had cared deeply for. It was a sacrifice I had made, but was it worth it? Today it didn’t feel like it was. Two days ago it did.
As I sat unconsolable, something caught my eye. I crawled to the peephole. There was someone walking. I blinked hard. Sure enough, there was someone there. Face, arms, legs, eyes and all. I stared in bewilderment. Someone was…outside?
She skipped with a spring that made me curious. Suddenly, she stumbled on a rock and fell. The other bubbles gathered with shaking heads and all thought, That’s what happens when you don’t have a bubble. You get hurt, don’t you know?
Her palms were bloodied and her knees were bruised. Sighs from the group watching echoed. We told you so. They seemed to say. They had lost their interest and turned their backs.
But I stayed. I watched closely. Slowly, but surely, she rose to her feet. I expected to see pain in her eyes and pain there was. What differed, however, was the peace still in them. She had not been defeated. She openly showed how she felt through those determined eyes with a vulnerability that was almost beautiful.
A strange sound aroused me from my stupour and I glanced down. Sure enough, the floor was…cracking. It was only a small crack, but a crack nonetheless. What was happening?
The girl noticed me. She drew closer. “Hello, there.” She smiled.
I was surprised she wasn’t talking to my signs. “Hello.” I replied, unsure.
“Who are you?” She asked cheerfully.
That was a strange way to word it. Was she asking for my name, or was she really asking who I truly was? “I used to be called April. Not so much anymore.”
Her eyes smiled gently, “April. To open. That’s what it means, isn’t that right?”
I closed my eyes. To open. If I could only.
“Would you like to come out of there?” The sudden question caught me off guard. My bubble swayed with uncertainty.
“It…” I hesitated, “might take a while.”
“Of course it will. You spent almost your whole life strengthening it. You built it to withhold the greatest of storms. But, it’s still possible to get out. That crack proves it.”
I looked down. Perhaps there was hope…“How do you live with letting everyone know everything about you?”
She gave a peal of laughter. “I can’t. Nobody can. Of course I have secrets, of course I act differently with different crowds. To be fair, sometimes it’s necessary to withhold information. To even withhold the truth. But that’s a different, longer story. For now, why don’t we begin chipping away at this prison?”

Several years later

The sun. I could close my eyes and feel the sun’s feathery fingers gently stroking my face. For the first time in a long time, I could see and feel every part of me. My shackles had been pried from my wrists. Signs, dusty and battered, were scattered. Hard, clear pieces protruded from the ground, half of which was already buried. I was free.