The Land Left Behind

Sleepless (3)

Rose was comfortable. She was laying in her bed; her limbs felt warm and soft. Sleep was an incredible thing. It drew you away from reality and into the cracks in the universe. She felt like that, now. If only Rose could stay like this forever. Nonetheless, sleep was a temporary state. Like a bird, it was fleeting, like a flower it would wilt.

Her mattress no longer felt rich and downy. Rose could feel her fingers, resting limply at her sides. Something tiny and sharp was digging into the small of her back. The window must have blown open; she felt a breeze tickle her face and ruffle her bangs. She could hear birds chirping outside. Though it was nice, laying there, her bed had stiffened. It was time to get up. 

Rose opened her eyes.

As soon as she opened them, she snapped them shut and kept them closed. Rose wasn't awake. It was only a matter of time until she was.

Except she laid there for quite a while. Great, Rose thought, a dream that will never end. Waiting wasn't working. The birds still sang, and the mattress underneath her felt rocky and hard.

She opened her eyes and analyzed the view for the first time. Trees of varying shades and textures stretched above her. Some were not dissimilar to those in the forests of her home; others seemed odd. While many had leaves, others had needles, and a few had both or something else altogether. Several trees were clothed completely in flowers. They reminded Rose of the headmistress' dresses, the drape of plush fabric over earthen-toned skin.

Were the trees real? Maybe Rose had wandered outside, delirious and fever-ridden. Maybe something more sinister had happened. She had heard stories from the other girls, cautionary tales of disappearances and madness, wayward souls who vanished gracefully and without a trace. Maybe her imagination was running away with her.

There was only one way to learn the truth. Begrudgingly, Rose rose to her feet. She brushed dirt from her deep brown hair, headed towards the trees, and, hopefully, some answers.

Rose was still perched in the tree when she saw movement beneath her. It had been easy to spot in such a still and stagnant place. She craned her neck, careful not to upset her balance on the narrow branch.

A girl was walking through the wood. She had dark skin and darker hair, wound into an intricate pattern close to her head. The girl was wearing fine clothes; a long skirt adorned with sky-blue embroidery and accented with a white blouse. She strode gracefully. Her posture was reminiscent of a leaf blown aloft on a gentle wind.

Rose thought back to stories of faeries and wood spirits Angie had used to lull her into bed. The girl was one if Rose had ever seen one, which she hadn't.

As she drew closer, however, Rose realized something peculiar. The woodland faery was talking to herself. It wasn't absent muttering, either. She was using her hands animatedly; she twisted her head as if communing with the air itself. Though her words were unintelligible from where Rose sat, she could tell the faery seemed focused and slightly agitated.

Part of Rose had filled with relief- it felt as if she hadn't seen another person in ages. She wasn't sure what to do. Should Rose climb down and introduce herself, asking the girl for advice? Or should she stay here where she could keep a careful distance? Ultimately, the decision was made for her.

Rose could hardly process the split second of chaos and turnover which had delivered her to her current state. The only way she could think to describe it was nothingness. There was nothing underneath her limbs as they struggled, her arms could find nothing to grab onto in order to save herself. She felt no bark under her tanned fingers as she tumbled through the cool air. Remarkably, her brain was functioning quite well. If only Rose could summon this kind of concentration during her religious exams.

She blinked and remembered she had more important things to worry about. She needed to do something, but could anything be done? The branch she had fallen from had been high, the tallest one hardly enough to support Rose's weight.

Rose had only tripped climbing trees once before. Her foot had stepped onto a limb and found nothing but air. The ground had made hard contact with her hands; long days spent nursing a sprained wrist had taught her a lesson.

Evidently, weeks of sickness had left Rose rusty.

Tree limbs within her reach were nothing but twigs. Perhaps the strange faery would save Rose- cast a spell or call flora or fauna to cushion her fall. She wished she had dropped facing the ground, so she could at least watch death rise to meet her. Her descent seemed to be slowing. It was only a matter of time.

Yet for a second, Rose was suspended in the air. She twisted her neck and saw the ground mere inches below the soles of her feet. There was dirt beneath her, but she was not touching it. So then what was Rose resting on?

Rose pinched her lips together and closed her eyes. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, a sound all too discernable in a forest inhabited solely by ghosts. Ghosts. Rose would be one, soon. She tightened her muscles and braced for impact.