Falling in Reverse

Prologue I

The memory spills onto a mountainside at dusk.

Rosy sparks, trickling down the towering slope, crackle, whisper, and zip around staticky visions of trees sparking to life. They glide over and under the rises and falls of the incline and ruffle through snow-dappled bushes, until they reach the darkened silhouette of a young girl . The light eagerly fills her figure, gracing her with a pale face decorated by shadows of flesh and bone, before extravagantly exploding, leaving the scene saturated and still.

She stands amidst silvery waves of powder, and her wide eyes admire at a sky embellished in melting lavender petals and drips of juicy orange peels. She is but a speck on the impressive mountain, and the chilly gusts threaten to topple her small frame. Yet despite the screaming cold, she wears no coat. A thin cap decorates her soft head--rebellious strands of yellow hair escaping its clutches and dancing in December's crisp breath--and a bleak, swampy green T-shirt loosely hangs onto her shoulders in a hesitant embrace, its material itching the back of her bare neck.

She smiles at her beaded breath as it floats towards the clouds, blissful and curious. The warmth in her gaze appears to be enough, some whisper of purpose sizzling inside her.

Suddenly, a voice--

"Lypsie, come on!"

Twirling towards it, the girl presses against the tall, crashing current as snow begins to shower heavily. She reaches out, but quickly discovers the silhouette of a voice feels oddly slippery between her fingers, so she persists and chases it down the mountain side. Her vision grows wet and foggy as snowflakes land in her eyelashes.

Stumbling between the dancing shadows of canopy, she totters closer and closer towards the edge of an unnamed force, her feet sinking deeper and deeper into the snow, the thought, the memory. Wafting aromas of cooking dinner invade her lungs and remind her home is but a few steps backward, yet she races forward. Laughs echo from the familiar voice ahead, and she answers them with winded giggles, her knees leaping to break the chilly waters, snow slipping into the crevices of her clothing.

She catches the pools of the tree's inky shadows as they flicker and smile at her, joining in on the light-hearted hysterics. But her strength falters for a moment, and she quickly redirects her sleepy attention to search for the body of the voice. She finds it taxing to differentiate it from the trees.

Pausing to catch her breath, she raises her hands in exhaustion, a feeble attempt to steady the spinning world in her arms.

Yet, she sees something, and the colors are so bright, and the ground doesn't seem to come any longer, and she staggers, falling in reverse--

"Lypsie, I'm over here--"