The beauty of the river staggered the breath in Ravine's chest. She saw it the moment she emerged from the earth—it wound out before her in a joyous ribbon. Never could any creature miss such an incredible spectacle, even if it was blind. It was too beautiful.
Ravine felt her body bend towards the water like a straining tree. She crept a little closer, tentative.
The river was a looping thread of mercury here, of cherry there, tinted with blue clouds from above. It was a bouquet of fanciful colors, wrapped together one moment, and the next, unraveling into different alluring shades.
It drifted through the light forest, rollicking and whispering. Ravine thought she even heard it laugh. The cheerful river seemed capable of such a thing.
Then those shades slipped away with the sighing current, replaced in a continuous motion with new color. Now the silver harbored fleets of yellow flickers, darting like fish through the water—while deep, sorrowful lamps of indigo glimmered along its farthest bank.
Ravine felt tears roll down her face as she limped closer to the river. Her hands and feet bled, and her eyes stung from the brightness of open day. An excruciating headache pounded at her skull. She felt her steps carry her to the edge of the water.
Why did it all hurt now? Why did everything hurt?
With a heavy sigh, she sat on the embankment. Her head swam—like those colors in the river. Pretty colors. Pretty river. She smiled ever so faintly.
The water ran by.
The water ran by.
She held out a weathered hand. She let it drag in the current, the current that ran by. The colors of the current began to bleed together—to bleed like she was, staining all she touched with a malignant red.
The water ran by, turning that same angered hue, burned by the hot red fantasy gravity had ensnared her to.
Wait. Gravity? She wasn't really thinking about gravity, was she? No.
What, then? Who, then? Memories bubbled up, released, and sank back to the bottom. She withdrew her hand from the river and stared at it, watching the droplets scurry down her arm. Her fingers clenched at nothing, balling in and balling out. Fiddling. Pressing her nails into her palms, so that her grated skin tore again and again. Blood joined the water in its path down her arm.
Ravine started to shake.
The Viper. She'd run from the Viper. How had she not remembered that sooner? The water ran by. Tears, now ones of panic, spilled from her eyes.
The red in the water slowly dispersed until it was weakened to a pale pink.
Pale pink?
Ravine's throbbing head felt something else click within it. Pale pink. Like the blossoms, the blossoms in the stagnant puddles.
Dizzily she stood. Pale pink. Something in that image called to her. Its voice was strange—alien, of sorts. Pale pink. It sounded strained, as if tugged by conflicting realities. Pale pink.
Yes, strained, as if it came from the mouth of one who had begun to speak after a long time of silence.
Strained, as if filtered through leaves of many colors that muffled its own in clashing contrast.
Strained, as if frightened to speak but knowing it had to.
Ravine stood and began to stumble east, where a fluttering forest lay ahead.
YOU ARE READING
Aeolia
General FictionA woman runs from everything. A songbird joins her from nowhere, singing colors and images. A whisperer finds the pair among a field of poplars and graves. A dark and vicious viper stalks them from deep in the earth. They must flee from the Viper...
