Her Life

By Cynthia Li

With a lilac bra on the top and underwear on the bottom, and with face downwards, she dived down under the pool, motionless. Illuminated by ethereal lime-green glow, the ripples sparkled as the shallow waves rolled. Behind the pool was her stately mansion. The ivies twined their way through the gate and along the walls, finally clustering in front of her balcony. The windows were shielded by white lace curtains. Once in a while, the sunshine would sneak into the crevices, the dust particles danced in the shafts of sunlight, bestowing upon the room an air of mystery and sanctity.

“Look, she is doing that again!” My friend said to me. We hid behind the bushes outside. It was a tranquil summer, with sun rays streaming down through the boughs, casting a dappled mosaic of shadows at my feet.

She was facing downward into the pool, into the glittering green circled by exotic floras, looking at days fading away and passing her by. Her hair floated around her like a dark halo. The sound of waves was only she could hear, peaceful and rhythmic, like the sound of her heartbeat. She remained unmoving, like the marble sculpture sitting above the pillar of the pool.

Finally, we left from the bushes, perhaps never to tread this path again. It’s her life after all, but as we walked away, a sense of melancholy filled my heart, as I mused on the secrets concealed beneath her seemingly tranquil facade.

Cynthia Li is an emerging writer and cultural enthusiast living in China. Her short stories often explore themes of identity and the magic hidden in everyday life. She’s drawn to grotesque kinds of writing, especially Gothic and Surrealistic aesthetics. Besides creative writing, she is also a founder of Western Culture Studies club and an organizer of her school art fair. Cynthia hopes to bring novel perspectives to the world.