Wrapped in Color and Light

Chapter 8

Joel opened his eyes, as though waking from a dream, slow and deliberate. He tried to remember what had happened, but the details were unclear. Like walking indoors after staring at the sun, everything was dark and out of place.

He looked around, his vision soft as watercolor, green edges blending together. Flashes of white light came and went like fireflies. He blinked, turned his head, and closed his eyes again, waiting for everything in his body to settle.

His muscles were sore from the fall, particularly his chest, making it hard to breathe. His legs shook when he tried to stand, and he dropped to his knees.

After several concentrated and strained breaths, he pushed himself back up, steadying his feet, as if he were on a trampoline. When he brushed the dirt from his jeans, his fingers moved. Their mobility brought relief, heavy shackles falling from his shoulders and wrists. He smiled, despite the uncertainty of this place, and wiggled his fingers some more, delighting in their abilities.

Thank God I don't have to tell my dad about my hand, he thought before freezing in place, his breath caught somewhere between his stomach and his mouth. Where the hell am I?

He stood on a dirt road surrounded by a forest of large trees. A yellow bird resembling a macaw landed on a low branch, causing several leaves to break free. They floated to the ground and shattered like glass. Rather than settling on the earth, the shards transformed into butterflies, flying away in a flutter as thick as smoke.

"What the..." Joel asked aloud, only to be interrupted by a bird flying by his head, squawking as though intentionally rattling his ears. He jumped back, watching as it flew into the sky, disappearing into the clouds. He inhaled, the air as sweet as frosting.

Dark clouds rolled in, and a drop of rain fell, making the sound of a struck piano key, leaving a splash of blue in its wake. Three more drops followed, each with its own note. Colors bounced from the ground—red, orange, purple.

Joel's brows knit as he rubbed the ground where the rain had landed. His fingers came away with color painted on their tips, and as they dried, the color disappeared.

This can't be.

Thunder cracked, a shower of song and color trailing behind. Chords and melodies to rival a symphony enchanted Joel's ears while a rainbow of color wrapped around him like a blanket.
As the rain came harder, Joel felt the mighty brass and drums, the ground vibrating beneath his feet. He grew cold and wet, so he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to rub the goose bumps from his flesh.

The rain waned into a drizzle, the sound of it delicate, like a flute playing a lullaby. Deep shades of blue floated around him, and his eyelids drooped. When he grew tired enough to sleep, it stopped. The ground dried, as if it hadn't rained at all, and the air warmed.

He inhaled the smell of frosting and pressed a fist against his trembling lips. Amid distress and confusion, a whip of terror lashed his heart, tearing upon reality and completely unnerving him. Dread filled him, and tears swelled in his eyes. With no one to be brave for, he let them fall. Doubled over, his hands on his knees, he choked on his own fear.

What the hell have I done?

Parallel tracks were embedded in the road, like those made by bikes but deeper, as though a heavy vehicle had passed by. He brushed his fingers over the edges. They were thick and stiff. He stood and followed them, listening to the sounds of the forest, watching birds fly overhead.

A clatter of metal and the rhythmic step of a horse came from behind. Wiping the tears from his face, he turned to see a middle-aged man sitting in a wooden wagon, a long stick in hand. The man held the reins of a dark brown mule that hung its head low, swinging it back and forth. He noticed Joel and pulled tight, stopping the wagon a few feet from Joel's black sneakers.