Blooming Emotions

~Επτά

Once, when I was ten, I tried climbing a tree, but the branch gave out from my weight. I landed on my arm and broke it. Finding me on the grass infuriated my mother. At first, she dried my tears and asked what happened; once I explained the situation, she screamed at me—saying how irresponsible that was and sulked through the ER visit.

Has anyone told you what it's like to free-fall? It's an odd experience. Your heart plummets to your stomach, and adrenaline floods your veins. But then a type of serenity washes over and calms you. I could breathe again.

I hoped that I wouldn't die once I hit the ground. I prayed for minor injuries—preferably no spinal or brain damage. Please, and thank you. Unobtainable, I know, but everyone has their own way of coping with their imminent death.

I fell for what seemed like hours. Immediately after I fell, darkness descended. Not a single ray of light shone in the chasm. It was just me, myself, and I. It was cold there, too—no light equals no heat, right?

Upon hitting the ground, I received no pain. I frowned but went with it. Maybe I didn't fall as far as I thought. Did the lack of light mean it was some sort of optical illusion? I got up and dusted off myself. Then promptly stumbled back onto my ass.

Did I discover a parallel universe or something? I didn't sit at the bottom of a sinkhole—but on a riverbank. Above me, a blue sky with a bright sun greeted me. There was real grass underneath my butt. Bone-white asphodels dotted the hills a few hundred feet away. The forest in Mississippi was nowhere to in sight. But eerily, the place remained utterly silent. Not a single bird, bug, or squirrel chirped, buzzed, or chattered.

Or... am I dead?

I reached over and pinched my arm. Nope, I felt that. I am definitely still alive.

Since I am stranded here, my first plan is to find shelter. Luckily, I landed next to a body of water. The water moved relatively fast, so I figured it was at least a little clean—still going to boil it, though. I couldn't see any trees close by, on the other hand.

A shouting voice caught my attention. I turned and saw a man rowing a gondola-type boat and waving at me. I sighed in relief and waved back. He can bring me to civilization! He had long and wavy, blond, salt and pepper hair and a huge, sparkling grin. He was in his early fifties, it seemed.

"Hello!" he shouted, banking the boat. "You're farther down the river than the rest, but that's all right."

I approached his boat and frowned. "You mean... there are others?"

"Well, yes! Many others— wait a second. You're not dead."

"Um, thanks, I guess."

"How did you get here? This is the land of the dead." His demeanor changed like he flipped a switch. Now, he was cold and almost angry.

"Lan-land of the dead? What do you mean?"

"This, daughter of Demeter, is the Underworld—as in the one from the Greek myths." Why did he call me 'daughter of Demeter?' Isn't that what Aidon called my mother earlier?

"You-you're joking! You can't be serious!" I stumbled back from the boat.

"Afraid not, daughter of Demeter. Hop in, and I'll explain." He gave me a grim smile and patted the side of the boat. I hesitantly climbed in and sat on one of the benches. "Daughter of Demeter, my name is Charon; I am the ferryman of the dead. I carry the dead across the River Styx, where a council judges you on where you belong in the Underworld. Since you are not dead, I will bring you to the king, and he'll decide what to do."

"Is this king nice? Should I be afraid?"

He grinned again. "No, daughter of Demeter, don't be fearful. He will not punish you if you haven't done anything wrong. Shall we get going, daughter of Demeter?"