The Lost Art of Staying Alive

Melancholy Draft

I allowed my frozen fingers to rub the floor, where I pressed them hard to be able to feel the linoleum beneath. Soot and a crumpled leaf or two. I blinked and proceeded to open my eyes widely to find myself staring at the stucco across the white ceiling. Yes, I am alive; alive and breathing. In the process of sitting up I caught a glance through a glass door to my right. An off-white set of drapes hung in front of the doors swaying left to right in the slight draft. I stood and stretched my arms and legs, taking several deep breaths and yawned.

Pulling back the drapes, I was greeted by an early morning sky. To the east were orange, fiery clouds just above the sun and pink strings flung across the horizon; to the west the night sky still dangled several stars and the moon clung to a purple setting. By then it must've surely been six thirty at the earliest. I slid the drapes back to their original positions and pulled my socks and jacket off. All I wore underneath was a red tank top. Chilly as it may have been, I sat down onto the rugged sofa beside the door.

I pulled my legs up and folded them while laying on the arm of the sofa. Its softness was welcoming, and it smelled just the slightest bit of peaches which was enough to play on my drowsiness. My eyes closed again, and I fell back into sleep.

I dreamt of an orchard that had bore fruit deep into the winter months. Not just one, and they were warm. I stepped through the snow and silence was broken in those movements precisely, by crunching and shuffling. With grace I slipped off my right glove and reached to the ripest peach in sight while on my tiptoes. Pulling it and breaking the trees grip on the precious and delicate fruit, I sliced it with a small pocket knife. The first bite grasped my mind and I closed my eyes to endure it, to absorb the perfection. Upon opening them again, the snow was falling harder. I looked to the orchard, smiling, and it was all gone so quickly. The once hearty and large number of peaches was then no more. Rotten and blackening pieces dangled from each place where fruit had populated before, and it was over. The juice from the only remaining one in my hand had turned red and syrupy; the fruit was gone and in my hand I held a putrid, rotting skull with sunken eyes. The snow became red below me and I let the head roll from my hands and fell back, hitting the ground, I woke.

With a start I grabbed my jacket and put my socks back on. The peachy scent was no longer so comforting. I slipped on my boots and rolled up my blanket, grabbed my backpack and looked through a crack of the blinds before proceeding. I had no goal, and nothing to look for. Staying alive was all I needed to do, and I was confident that eventually something would happen and change that.

The cold was fierce. No one was in sight. The grass was heavily frosted but there was no snow falling, and I didn't think there would be for a while. A few weeks and winter would officially be in swing. I walked along the street and there was still no one in sight. Even the animals weren't awake yet, maybe they were too cold or it was too early. I kept on my way.

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Stay with me, readers. Just added a whole new fresh chapter two. Thank you. :)