You are resting in the cool, damp grass, watching with glazed eyes as the marmalade sun melts behind a thick wall of trees and mountain, only the soft orange glow remaining. At last, even the illumination fades and it is as if the sun were never there at all, like a distraught ghost that has only one story to tell. You begin to feel the grass digging into your skin, pricking the goosebumps forming from the bleak earthy ground against your arms. The sun is gone. You must go inside.
With reluctance, you ease yourself up. The air feels different when you are standing. Icier, more distant. Not actually there. You must go inside.
Wind soars between clouds, occasional flusters drifting down to graze the top of your head causing brisk chills racing down your spine. You twist your fingers, feeling sudden anxiety. You must go inside.
The once calm wind blows harsh and wintry against your back, ruffling your shirt so much it sounds like the sails of a looming pirate ship. You freeze as a single raindrop falls to the center of your head, right where your hair parts. Hands shaking, you turn around and face the sky. You must go inside.
You run as fast as you can, though you know it’s not enough. It never will be. You can’t outrun weather, let alone air. You can feel the tornado lapping at your heels, tasting the edges of your jeans. It slowly creeps up your torso, wind swirling through your legs as you force yourself to continue, pushing your body harder than you ever have before. It seems that your best will not save you. The foot of the tornado curls around your neck. You suffocate as it pulls you in to its depths from which you fear you will never escape.
Inside the churning vortex of air you hear everything. Car horns, alarm systems, babies crying, animals mewing. You hear everything, and yet you hear nothing. It’s all so far away, just out of your grasp like a dream you can’t discern from reality. The noises are muffled, as if the storm wanted to give you a moment of relaxation before it creates more horrible predicaments. The taste of muted silence fades and wind begins to roar in your ears again. You dig your hands into your head, willing it to stop. You can’t hear yourself yelling and crying violent sobs.
The torment continues. Soon, everywhere you turn you see a bleary face in the clouds, peering at you with disapproval. What are you doing here? Why didn’t you stay inside? How come you didn’t run any faster? Their lips move in slow motion, the words just barely whispers in your mind. Gritting your teeth you respond with wails and confused shrieks. “How would I know!?” You call out between gasps of air. “This isn’t what I wanted! Leave me alone!” Your voice is raspy and broken.
The dark, gray faces laugh, their smiles like a lion’s teeth bared. Ha! No one ever asks for these things! You earn them! They say in unison, the sound of their tone acting as a siren. Your head aches. You don’t know what to say anymore. Then, through the chaos you see a single white rose floating like a bird’s feather.
You pause, your breath lost among the brisk winds. You reach for the rose out of instinct, but it’s so far away, much too far to get from where you are. You realize you must do something, or else the rose will be lost forever. Closing your eyes to the tumultuous storm around you, you wait for the gust to bring the rose to you. Your faith in the unknown brings you satisfaction. As you grip the rose, the noise ends and the faces disappear. Scarlet blood from your hand drips down the stem of the delicate flower, but you are careful not to let it stain the pure white color of the beautiful plant.
You are falling. You are decreasing height rapidly, there is no time for you to find a solution. You refuse to do anything now. The wind will carry you where it wants you to be. The rose remains in your hand, it’s thin petals surprisingly resistant towards the harsh breezes.
When you land, you are startled by the soft impact. You lay in a large bed of shasta daisies, their fronds kissing your skin with a tender feeling. Acknowledging the flowers’ sweetness, you let yourself relax and stare at the painted sky above you. It is still nighttime and stars are very easy to see against the contrasting blue and purple of a night’s heaven. Each little speck of light shines bright, fabricating a sheet of sparkles across the darkness. You hear faint murmurs from the globes of radiance. Even without clear statement, you know what they are saying.
“You should go home now.”