Colored Full of Trauma

First Breaths

Bare feet drop in turns along a gravel road, what would usually cause pain is more accurately a grounding sensation. The pebbles of varying size, shape, and sharpness dig shallow dents in her flesh, telling her that this moment here, is real. Stepping to the grassy ditches is a possibility sure, but to her, it doesn't come off as welcoming.

Every mailbox passed reaches her closer to the bottom of this hill, closer to the sound of roaring automobiles, closer to-

Where am I going? What exactly is my goal? Is there a point to this trail?

Stopped in the direct middle of this river of rocks and tire marks, she stands alone, looking to the sky.

Nothing even feels... familiar. These houses are empty shells, not within my memory. Even this sensation of stinging pain in my feet is new.

As birds flutter past above, she watches the white clouds move slowly along the earth, hiding the shadows of the swallows beneath them. Letting her neck wander, then her waist as her eyes follow the surrounding wind. All of it leading uphill, where in the distance, the bald tip of a hill rises naturally out of the crust, distinguishing itself from the hill below like a volcano atop an already elevated mountain. Calling her closer, she follows.

Interconnected, and parallel lines of calloused dirt lead to the peak, yet simultaneously leaking down in their own paths. Boulders of chalk form ragged edges, accumulating into a cliff that drops just high enough for a kid to break his leg falling into the ocean of tall, yellow grass, but not be damaged further. Tiny crevices drill deep into the powdered rock, likely creating a habitat for scaled or eight-legged creatures. But instead, a bushy tailed mammal pokes it's head out.

It's beautiful, isn't it? Everything dancing together in contradicting unison?                                          
A melodic voice comforts from inside her head. But not the part that is her's.

You'll find your own rhythm within that someday, I promise you dear.

"Who are you?" She asks aloud, but not in a frightful or concerned manner.

I'm you, in a peculiar way.

Raising their hand to her face, she watches the palm.                                                                                  

Just like these wrinkles scarring us from different movements of the same hand, we are still one. Or, like those paths up there. They point.

Moments pass as the gentle wind tunnels it's way through the small caves between their fingers. Then through the grass sliding along her knuckles, she leads the way up the cliff, evading the trail as she grips the raw earth with all of her might. White dust is rubbed off onto her ripped jeans, before she continues up the uneven, rocky surface of the untamed trail below. Amygdala only activating as they step AROUND a snake carcass. Tire slightly wearing out her joints, but it doesn't matter, she made it to the top.

The neighborhood carries the faint scent of barbeque, originating from the dozen backyards that she can easily peer over the bushes, and into. Few cars loiter the gravel roads, all of them reserved for the highway that leaves the large bundle of concrete buildings, treads through the small neighborhood, and enters into a world of lightly curved plains as far as their eyes can see. In the distant population, an enormous sculpture of Saturn reaches the clouds. It's the only thing with a hint of familiarity.

Right before taking her first step, she's interrupted.                                                                                            A word of advice, if I may. When you ever can... take a moment to breathe it all in. It helps all the pain and happiness join hands, then leave through your lungs, leaving room for a new breath to enter.