Finalist Alex Grese Grade 6 Marshall Middle School

Windows to the Soul

I trudged through the dreary streets, once again desperately seeking the right word to describe how I felt. I recollected when not long ago I was like a caged bird, locked in a world of sameness; the knowledge that was hidden from me was the bars that imprisoned me. But that was before my 12 ceremony, the ceremony where all elevens became twelves and received their jobs. That was the day when I became the next Receiver of Memory, the only person in the Community that held the memories before sameness; that knew of color, pain, and free will. The job was considered a great honor, but it made me feel far from honorable. Through this job I learned the truth; that the people of the Community, my friends and neighbors, were blinded. They simply do what they were told to do, thinking it was right even if it was far from it. If a person got too old or simply didn't fit in they were "released." In other words, killed. My own father released several innocent, defenseless babies all because he was told to. Gabriel, a toddler I saved from the Community, would have faced the same fate had I not brought him with me when I escaped to this world, Elsewhere.

At first Elsewhere seemed perfect, all the colors, people bustling about. But first impressions are often deceiving.

In Elsewhere money is everything. People go to their jobs, not to serve their town, but to make money. People break the law for money. They lie, rob, and injure others all to get money. They act like if they do not get money they will die.

There are two types of people in Elsewhere, those who have money, and those who do not. The ones fortunate enough to have money do nothing with it. They sit on it like a hen on her egg. The ones who lack money are called "peasants" and "hobos." People strut right by them, noses in the air, acting as if those poor souls don't deserve to exist. And while they act so uppity the peasants starve, with every passing day growing weaker as their hope trickles away with the tears that wash their dirt smothered faces. All of this happens because of money.

Perhaps the word to describe how I feel is sadness. It is very sad to watch people around you die because those who are able to help only sneer with undisguised disgust. Or maybe I feel helpless because I have no money or food to offer these suffering citizens.

Suddenly a light burst inst my mind, lighting it up like a firework. I was not at all helpless. I could aid these people by showing them that money was not everything, and just because they did not have it their life was not over.

The brilliant light of excitement soon dimmed. How could I possibly convince people who hail money that it did not matter?

As I contemplated this a tiny "yip!" sounded behind me. Startled, I spun wildly around. What confronted me was a tiny brown puppy, staring up at me, tongue lolling out of its mouth.

"Hey there little fellow," I whispered, bending down to pet the shaggy dog. At my touch the puppy wagged its tail merrily and gave my face an affectionate lick with it's teeny pink tongue.

At this, another thought struck me. This animal possessed no money, but something as simple as care filled it with delight. Could something as simple as love open all the eyes of those blinded by greed?

Gently I picked up the puppy. I stared into its eyes. What I saw were vast, chocolate colored pools of unwavering love. I dove into these pools and felt a warmth flood over me, hotter than one thousand fires and stronger than one thousand men. As I immersed myself in this feeling I felt confidence surge through me. I was confident that anyone who stared into these puppy's eyes would see how miniscule money was in the big picture of life.

I emerged from the pools and back into reality. Glancing around I saw a peasant a few feet away from me, draped in rags, starring blankly at the grimy street. Making sure that the dog was firmly in my grasp I tentatively approached the miserable person. The person didn't even look up as I approached. I quietly cleared my throat to get their attention. When they looked up I saw it was a woman, here eyes were hollow and glazed with sadness.

"Hi," I greeted nervously. "My name is Jonas."

The lady looked up but said nothing.

"Would you like to see my dog?" I blurted out nervously, holding the puppy in front of her.

She looked up and stared into the puppy's eyes. At first her eyes were dull and blank, but as she gazed into the dog's eyes her eyes began to change. A new light began to shine through the dark clouds of sorrow that had nestled there for so long. Slowly she drew her gaze away from the puppy's eyes and up into mine.

"He has the most beautiful eyes," she whispered, her voice smothered with awe.

"Indeed he does," I murmured in agreement.

"They say," she said slowly, "that the eyes are the windows to the soul."

I stared at the old lady. Pondering what she said. The eyes are the windows to the soul. It was beautiful. I nodded and murmured in agreement. "I'll remember that," I promised and slowly began walking away.

"Child!" She called after me.

I turned to face her.

Thank you," she said. "Thank you very much."

At her words I smiled. Something as simple as love had restored this woman's faith. Love made her realize that money was not everything. And she had given me something in return for helping her find her faith. Hope. I had found the word I had been seeking. There was hope for Elsewhere. Hope that bit by bit Gabriel, our newfound doggy friend, and I could restore faith to this world. To do so we need only one thing.

Love.