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Treasure can be measured by several tools, weight, gold content, it's monetary worth. But what cannot be be measured is the treasures that are imaginary. Friendships, romance, and things that make one generally feel fuzzy. I will tell you the story of one such treasure, and you'll have to decide for yourself what it's worth. When I was growing up, we were poor. Not in a sense of begging in the Buyan streets, waiting for scraps to be thrown out windows where we would devour them like the stray dogs. Though I have done that when money was tight and I wasn't full enough from dinner. The Buyan scraps were the best. Kugnae's scraps were full of sugar and left much to be desired. I did not enjoy the stature of my station, so I always strove to be smart, to be witty, to better my chances of stepping out of my station. Become something better. I studied the works of various poets and masters of literature. I consider myself well read. Finally I decided to try my luck at the stage. I wanted for amateur night at the local Muse Guild. The master maestras flourishing in their finery. Words loosing from their lips, well rehearsed and either beautiful in their tone, or witty for their cleverness. They opened the stage, and I had prepared for weeks. As they shined the light upon my shaking hands, I closed my eyes and began to sing the song I had written. While my eyes were closed I could feel the warmth of the light, and the small gasps from the audience. As I lingered on the last note, a hush rushed across and then cheers began to roar. I felt at home. I began performing at all of the performances the Muse Guild put on. I would write new pieces for each one. My reputation as a singer was beginning to grow. But no one knew me. I had given a stage name. I knew my position in society would not allow me to be on this stage. But it is where I have always wanted to be. The costumes I had created were lavish and hid any details that would give me away. It wasn't long for me to create enemies. I had risen to fame in various nations. I was invited to covetted parties. I loved them. There was this one other performer, I remember her vividly. Red dripping from her every pore. A loud obnoxious squawking everytime she opened her mouth. She smelled of Moon wine all the time. One particular night she swayed her way onto the stage and began to rip apart my costume. The beautiful layers so meticulously put together. When she was finished, I stood there in despair. This beautiful boy, wig toppled to the floor, tears streaming down my face. My treasure stolen through jealousy. My dream shattered by another who couldn't stand to see one stand above her. Treasures don't have to be held by hands to mean something. Written by - Wauna | |