I have forgotten the color blue, the taste of wind, the smell of grass, the texture of trees, and the sound of the birds -who, despite being chained to the sky, are more free than you have ever been. And I fear, although it must be, you have forgotten it too. My hair, I'm sure, used to be like that waterfall, cascading down in tidal waves to end just below the breast - now merely scattered pebbles spotting a barren scalp. My teeth, I'm sure, used to be the color of those petals on the unpicked flowers, white and innocent - now rotten like the ones on the ground. And my eyes, I'm sure they sparkled like the rays that filled the cracks of those decaying walls - it's in front of me now, the fire I so longed to see - my motivation my goal it's blinding. But I'm not sure about my hair, my teeth, my eyes - not because we didn't have mirrors, there were nothing on those walls but you know that. My eyes decieve me; only connected to the memories trickling in as I write with red ink. Did birds always have red eyes? No. Did birds always make that beep beep beep sound? No. Don't be like me. Don't stop to feel the bark of the tree. Don't be lured in by what you haven't been able to see from the cellar they locked you up in. Run. Run like you're life depends on it. And it does. Run because my darling, the trees have eyes.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Short Stories
Short StoryAlthough I do write on Wattpad (please check out Villains in Name if you have the time) I feel it most obligatory to my sense of imagination to share the spontaneous processes it goes through, those that I can not, at the time, form into a whole no...
