“How did you get this?” She enquired (not) looking at my invisibility cloak. I sat speechless, surprised at her choice – How did I get it? I don’t know. I don’t remember.
“How did you get it?” She asked again, more curious now.
The greed and admiration in her eyes caused an unexplained agony in my heart.
“You seem fascinated by it? You want it?”
“Want it?” she exclaimed, “Hell yeah! Who wouldn’t want this?”
“Doesn’t it feel amazing to blend right in?” she said. She could jump. She could run. She could make weird faces and still no one would ever know. The eyes couldn’t see. The ears couldn’t hear. She could observe and never be observed. She could be anyone she wanted in her own little world. It would be amazing, she said. It would be the greatest thing, she said.
Her naivety stabbed jealousy in my heart. How did I get the invisibility cloak though? Oh! I remember. I did not get the invisibility cloak. I made it. I cast a spell weaved out of colloquial speech and vernacular thoughts. I dyed my cloak with the rainbow colours of society. I washed it in the buckets full of dreams and fairy-tale fantasies and squeezed them right through it. I dried it under the sunlight of approvals and normalcy. I sewed it with the delicate soft threads of comfort and advantages. I ironed out the wrinkles and creases with the heat of conformity as well as frequent genocide of idiosyncrasies.
“You like it? You can take it,” I said.
“Really? You sure?”
No. But take it before I change my mind.
I understand why you are so fascinated by this. But what’s wrong with being seen? When there is nothing to hide why do you need this cloak? Why do you want to spend your whole life peeking through this deception? This cowardice? This great doleful irony?
“Yes, you can take it. It is yours now.”
“What about you?”
“I have already started making a new one.”