Her Notional Friend

25th July 2009, Saturday
Plasencia, Cáceres, Extramadura, Spain
TIME: 16:48

NEVER syndicate whatever you glimpse without a factual derivation—the humanity elucidated. Some may concur with this citation, whilst some may not. And you, right there, what must you theorize? Must you and everyone who revolved in this realm concede to this so-called 'wise' connotation? How about yes? Conceivably, no?

However, what if you were one of society's crises? Was the 'mental' justification absolved for your actions? Are you valid enough to render a premise to the populace of a heavily discriminating society? Let us confess, repelling species? Are they, nonetheless? Are you, nevertheless?

For Xiomara, everything in this damned civilization is scarcely a fraction of the 'make-believe'. Did that even convey a rise in perception in the relatively prime niche? Indeed, for her, it did. Everything provoked such connotations in this damned world.

"Xiomara, what are you doing there?" raised the question of a lady with a basket of fruits in her left hand; she was tall and was probably around her late 40s.

They were outside the bungalow, specifically at the timber, since their vacation house was located in the middle of the green, rustic wilderness with no detrimental pollution whatsoever. In the Eastern facet of the timberland, it is where the marvellous lake was encountered in.

"I was talking to a friend," said Xiomara, grinning whilst sequentially plucking the daisy's white petals. "She is an incredibly thoughtful friend, mother, and she constantly attends me every time I'm all by myself. Spectacular, isn't she?"

The mother barely chuckled at her daughter's affidavit. But who was she chattering about? Who was that friend?

"Daughter, let's go back inside the house, shall we? I've prepared our dinner, and it is almost evening. You can talk to her tomorrow morning—the whole day if you like," said the mother, smiling at her daughter.

Xiomara smiled back at her mother and took off first to the house, and the mother heeded after her.

This forest, this location, was everything to her. Multifarious kinds of lovely flowers, lofty trees, and many more nature fortes were all here, particularly her friend. She felt serene and cloudless as a feather-solitary chore as she meandered around the verdant essence of the beautifully celestial-carved wilderness. She halted to her steps and took off her shoes—when her bare feet grazed the blooming grass, she felt as if she were in the bliss of solitude.

"Xiomara, don't! We aren't stepping on the grass—we're on the ground full of twigs!" the mother cried out as she sprinted towards her sixteen-year-old daughter.

The girl, nevertheless, disregarded what her mother warned as she continuously hiked on the grass, fervour ample of elation and ecstasy. She could hear the birds chirping, here and there, as she contemplated the sunset unhurriedly perished like a nuclear gas.

"YOUR SOLES ARE BLEEDING!"

Mrs Zhang successfully stymied her daughter from proceeding with her jubilant tread on the risky, rocky road surface by profusely pulling her daughter's arm. Worry barely ate like a horse of her entire body. "Did you even hear me crying your name, Xiomara? Why did you keep wandering barefoot on a ground full of twigs?"

Xiomara raised a brow in complication. She couldn't grasp that her mother was being hallucinatory. "What are you talking about, mother? I'm walking on the grass, not twigs!" she cried out as she nudged her mother's hand away from her arm. Red marks could be caught a glimpse of on her skin, obviously coming from her mother's rigid grip.

"Xio—"

"Stop being phantasmagorical and leave me alone!" shouted Xiomara as she continued strolling back to the cottage without shoes on.