Ellie Kwan, class of 2027
i had a kaleidoscope once,
i got it for christmas.
begged my parents for one.
begged santa, too.
for the longest time.
i put it on the shelf,
i’d come back to it.
it was so pretty,
flowers, gems, tiles,
tinted colors,
shining.
like a rainbow.
like it demanded attention.
and it needed some.
it was strong.
i’d never felt anything like it.
--
it broke three days later.
--
i must’ve dislodged something.
shook it too hard,
twisted it too far,
dropped it.
something.
a black circle covered the patterns,
a stormcloud.
--
i wanted to fix it.
i had my mind set on fixing it.
but i didn’t.
why?
why didn’t i even try?
--
well, it doesn’t work anymore,
but i still have it.
somewhere.
--
i loved that kaleidoscope.
When the theme, "Kaleidoscope," was announced, I had immediately thought of my old, dust-covered kaleidoscope sitting in some corner of my room. I felt it would've been wrong to write about anything else without somehow incorporating it. Don't you just love vague metaphors?