7. Senses
I awake to black. Darkness. The shadow of the night, the twin of the raven's feathers. The color of the colorless. But isn't it a color? That is exclusion, discrimination, colorism even. I grope for the ground that my feet cannot feel. The cold has numbed them so that I have the experience of floating around.
The gentle breeze that once welcomed me now feels like needles in my spine. I find the only patch of grass in the field of dirt and gravel, like an island oasis in an ocean of mud and pebbles. Sure, there are houses nearby with the warm flames of a fire pit with food cooking overtop. They won't welcome me in; they are just like that gentle breeze. The breeze that long abandoned comfort and that resorted to turning a cold shoulder.
I cuddle up into the oasis, grasping each blade of grass for warmth, for a safe haven. Each blade of grass is different, yet they are all the same. Some are taller, some are greener, but they are all one. A single blade on the outer edge is browning, almost dead. A weed has overtaken its space.
People are like grass. We are all one whole, but we all are separate. And sometimes there's a person that takes the place of another, like a weed. And that weed takes the place of a once thriving blade of grass, leaving it to die.
Hunger is overtaking me. I've tried the dirt, it tastes like the earth. It's also not meant to be eaten by humans.
As the sun rises, I can smell the breakfasts that the others have made. The meat's stench fills my nose and I am left with longing.
Five days. I need to survive five days out here. They promised me that they would bring me home then. It has been four days. One day more.
Breathe in, breathe out. The air no longer smells fresh, it smells of danger and death. The scent of my future. The scent of every living beings' future. Life is not an infinite idea; it starts and it ends. Sure, life's specific details may be unpredictable, but in the end, we all will die. We all start from nothing, unknown even, and we end the same way. Some sooner than others.
All the while, my breath creates little clouds. Another day passes.
Today I will go home. Everyone in town comes to welcome me home. Some people are crying. Tears of joy, I suppose. Some are smiling, ready to take me in their arms. They push me onto a stage, a podium. In my honor.
A man looks at me and opens and closes his mouth. Many people do this. I don't. It doesn't make any sense why anyone would do this.
They give me a necklace to wear, and I accept it even though the fabric is rough and coarse. The entire crowd is opening and closing their mouths and-
A jolt moves my entire body and pain runs through my neck.
And then I experience something I've never felt before. But felt isn't the right word for it. I could hear a whimpering sound. A soft cry. These soft cries do not overpower another sound, though. Loud roars, shouts of victory.
My curiosity and excitement do not last long. I cannot see what's in front of me anymore. There is no light, no dark, no contrast. Everything seems... empty. My limbs feel cold. A sort of coldness that turns into paralysis. I have no control over my body, yet my mind wanders. I cannot smell the unforgiving breeze, nor can I taste the dirt's residue in my mouth.
The sobs and roars stop and I am left with nothing until my thoughts turn to insanity. I cannot do anything about it nor can anyone else. I am just stuck. Existing. Yet I am not existing at the same time.
I breathe in and breathe out, missing the fluffy white clouds.
