To Be Golden

     It sounded like a spoon on a washboard, rolling back and forth over and over, again and again. It would not cease. It had no end. The sound was all there was in the dark of the bedroom, save for the flashes of lightning that ripped across the ceiling and rattled the house so bad the walls shook as if they were coming down. Nothing could save me in that little house, so I hid under my old, ratty quilt with that funny hole in it that no one really knew how it got there. I thought it could protect me, shelter me and defend me from the storm. I was wrong.  
     The thunder rang on and on, crashing down around the house as I buried myself deeper beneath the thin cover that was my barrier to the world. A loud crack ripped through the air and my ears began to ring so loud I thought they would bleed. The screeching of a tree breaking, crashing down, swarmed around me. And then the storm stopped. Slowly, sunlight crept into the room, flooding into every corner, every crevice. I relinquished my grasp on the quilt with apprehension. The storm was over, and yet I was still afraid. I was afraid to see beyond the covers, to let go of my piece of darkness and give my eyes unto the world.
     I ripped away the quilt. Brightness enveloped me and I was blinded. I saw constellations, their beauty rippling before my vision, shielding me from my surroundings. The stars danced before my eyes, gently fading like the warm breeze that surrounded me, floating away. I was in a field, all hazy with pollen, a yellowy cloud. My nightgown blew gently round my legs where I had thrown the quilt away. I shivered but the air was warm, warm like a summer night, all muggy and sweet. My head throbbed as if it had been struck.
     Slowly, I got down from my bed and stood in the field. The grass was sopping wet and I felt my feet mush in the mud beneath me, the earth sneaking between my bare toes. A black stream was running through the field some feet away, soaking up all the light. I made my way towards the oddity and found, not water, but asphalt. It was no stream, but a road. It was a curious thing, all alone in the field winding its path to who knows where. I stood there awhile, taking in the distinct scent of cool summer rain on hot pavement. Then I decided to walk on.
     I stepped onto the asphalt and a rush of warmth ran through the soles of my feet, up my legs. The asphalt was new. That I could see. No rays of sun dared to reflect off its surface. The surface was shiny as if it was a sheet of black glass, waiting, begging even, to be cracked. I was afraid to take a step, afraid to break it. Holding my breath, I began to walk.
     I walked beneath a cotton candy sky, all blue and pink and white with clouds out of some dream, too perfect in their form. It was wondrously clear and bright. The air was humid and sticky, but there was something so pleasant about the warmth that I didn't care. I just kept walking down the glass road, floating really.
     And I walked and walked, yet everything looked the same. The field stretched out on either side of me, never changing while the road went on and on. The pain in my head remained but was slowly subsiding. My bare feet were beginning to ache. Something inside of me pushed me on and I would not stop. I had a strange feeling as I walked farther that I was supposed to reach the end of the path. Whether this was driven by my own curiosity or something much greater I was not certain. But I had to reach the end.
     It felt like hours, days even, until I saw the end. There were vibrant trees, bright green covered with blossoming white flowers , that stretched across the field as far as the eye could. It was like the entrance to some enchanted forest, a gateway to another world, another life. I ignored the hammering of my feet and ran to the forest as if I was racing some invisible opponent, competing for entrance into this land beyond the trees.
     The forest opened up for me, embraced me and welcomed me. Inside the trees, there were faces, ghostly, golden faces staring at me. Their eyes were bright and shining, filled with something I had yet to understand, to realize and to feel. They nodded as I gingerly touched my temple, the source of the throbbing in my head, my fingers gingerly grazing my head. I felt something warm and wet and recoiled. My fingertips were bright, scarlet red. I studied the color with unbelieving awe and touched my face again. It was a battered mess of flesh and blood. I could not see but I could feel the damage. My right eye was sunken, swollen. My skull was broken, cracked and destroyed.
     But the pain was gone. Only a whisper remained. I sat down on the cool, damp ground as the faces gathered around me. I felt their presence, their peace. Their golden eyes were all there was and I forgot myself. They touched their skulls and so did I. The cracks began to fill. My swollen, sunken eye slowly became the delicate creature it once was again. I stood again and my legs began to fade away beneath me, drifting away like smoke, and then my arms, my waist, and my neck went too. I felt the thrill of the transformation in soul. All that was left was my face, unbroken, perfect.
     I was golden.