Life with the Turtles: Louder than Sirens

The air was warm, as if she were basking in the sun. Like it was summertime, a season she did not care for. A bright light pours into her eyes and her hand flies up to cover her face. She blinks several times until she regains her bearings, and she lowers her hand. She freezes when she opens her eyes, her vision coming back.

She's standing on an emerald, softly trimmed lawn. The blades are glistening with teardrops, still damp from the earlier rainfall. A bittersweet smell wafts through her nostrils, and she turns around. There's a tall, bulky, towering tree a few feet away from her. It's thick trunk is a dark brown, almost like chocolate but there's a rich color of red. It's lush with puffy pink cherry blossoms sprouting from it's thick branches.

Soft pink petals rain as the gentle wind rustles the blossoms. There's a winding stone path that makes its way through the trees. She looks up and finds the familiar city outline of the place she used to live in.

There's a porch swing, a pale white. There's a young girl sitting there, her dark skin shimmering in the golden rays of the sun, and she has sketchbook in her lap. She's smoothing out the soft edge of the jaw and shading in as she applies value. Her black hair is tied into a ponytail, a strand of hair falling in the middle of her face.

A man comes into view and takes a seat beside her. He's smiling at her, asking her what she's drawing. She shrugs and answers nobody, but he counters that it has to be somebody, and she shrugs one shoulder instead. His cocoa brown eyes lights up in pure joy, looking at her as if she were the best thing in the world.

Tears spring into her eyes and she swallows the heavy rock lodged in her throat. Someone calls her name and, hesitantly, she turns around. She meets a pair of concerned oceanic eyes and the boy asks her if she's okay. She turns back around, the picturesque view fading away, like dust, and she shrugs.

"Yeah," she says, softly.