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Dancing through a hidden garden

The floral earthy scent reminds me of my childhood. Of the hopes I had. The world was limitless. I remember dancing, barefoot, to the music of nature. I would let the breathy melodies of the wind, the chorus of the birds, and the sounds of my own feet, slapping the solid slate rocks, set the beat. Now, I look through the yellow golden haze, as the sun makes its descent in the sky, and I see that my garden is gone. And all the flowers have long since given way to thorns and briars. And the path has become crowded, and grown over. But I close my eyes, and I listen. And I can here the birds, just like all those years ago. And I can feel the sun, tired of the day, but still soft and warm on my skin. And so I slip off my heels, placing my bare, manicured feet once again on that familiar slate, and start to dance. I don't feel anything, and I don't think. I just listen. I listen to those birds, and the sound of my feet on the stones, and the wind that blows the smell of the earth across my skin. I dance until I can't hear the birds anymore.

And like waking from a dream, I open my eyes. It's night, I think to myself. But how could that be? It's only been a few minutes. I look down at my feet, and see the bloody red footprints, weaving across the garden. My fresh, white nail polish is chipped, and blood drips from my feet, spilling the secrets of my bruised, and broken soul out into the garden. And I fall to my knees, watching the blood stain my designer jeans. I look at the wedding band on my finger, taking in the huge glistening rock that stares back at me, claiming me as someone else's.
For only a few minutes ago I was standing in this very spot, and the flowers were waving their beautiful heads, and everything was good in the world, and I was free.