(Photo credit unknown, source: Satakentia (Tumblr))
It was nice.
There was no sound but the wind in the brush, the quiet drips of water rolling off of leaves and petals to fall with a thud or a splash.
The breeze could not reach me, I was too low to the ground.
Why? Why was I on my back? I could feel the cool, damp leaves underneath me. There were some twigs in my hair, grazing my scalp, but it wasn't terribly unpleasant. My hands were turned so my palms were flat on the ground and my fingers were tangles in the unruly grass.
My mind was blank, filled only with the things I could sense around me and I didn't dare open my eyes. It was like part of me knew and I was trying to protect myself, but that wasn't possible, not really. I couldn't have known.
But then the wind found me. Not much, just enough, more than enough. A strand of hair fluttered against my cheek, a tickling sensation that irritated me, ruining my perfect dissociation.
I blinked open my eyes to find the sky a shade of lavender, maybe lilac. Just something with a soothing scent. I turned my head slowly, the undergrowth crinkling just a little. After a moment, I could focus on these tiny, lovely flowers, pink and completely innocent as the moisture coating them reflected the light of the moon rising over the treeline.
In my next breath, there was nothing in my head. In the one that followed it, I was realizing this. There was nothing in my head. Nothing about the sight that brought any familiarity. As far as I knew, this was the first dusk I had witnessed, the first flower I had gazed upon.
I didn't know where I was. I let out a whimper, a foreign sound. I didn't know my own voice.
The beauty of the flowers was no longer innocent. It was an apology.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection
Short StorySo I kind of just write things sometimes. They might be memories, they might be fever dreams, they might just be little snippets I concoct after finding some nice pics on Tumblr or Pinterest. But I've decided I'm in a sharing mood, so if anyone both...
