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She couldn’t remember how she got here. Her body lay comfortably limp in the healthy toweringly tall grass of a field, encompassing, comforting her like a mother holds her newborn, in the middle of an orange, hot summer‘s sun.&nbsp;“How did I get here?” she shakily mumbled from her prettily, slightly parted lips.&nbsp; Standing up now, steadying her stance, she gazed gently around at her surroundings: a plush valley, with an unmatched quiet that could soothe a rampant army, one she’d once met in a dream. How had she found her way back here, and where did she come from in the first place? The citrusly sweet orange sun blinding her ever so slightly with every new glance she took. An unmatched warmth of nostalgia she thought she’d only dreamt of. The sound of a door creaking startled her, resulting in a swift turn to see where such a sound could come from. When she’d turned to face what stood behind her, she found herself already looking at it as if it had been in front of her the whole time, as if she’d never had to turn her body nor alter her gaze to see it. For that matter, it wasn’t any door that stood in the middle of the field with no house behind it either, but rather a mirror with enchanting silver embellishments instead.This encaptivating mirror found itself afloat in the gentle breeze above the tall grass, with no wall for it to hang on. It called to her a familiar notion, as if it knew her. It told her to touch the surface, to enter its reflective blue depths. She took a step toward the silvery reflective blue surface, that didn’t mirror the valley she stood in.Though as she’d set her foot down, every single minuscule emotion and memory came rushing back to her. She remembered how she found herself stood in this valley, how she found herself stood before this bewitching mirror, and the depths it once led her to. Looking into a mirror, entranced by her aspirations, she’d fall naïvely through with open arms, disregarding, eternally decamping from the comfort of her gentle room that had accompanied her for as long as she could remember. A room she grew to despise originally, unknowingly it becoming the only thing that could comfort her years later, while shredding her heart rabidly to smithereens like a starved dog due to the shattering knowledge of her having parted so carelessly with it. Melanie plunged into the reflective blue claiming to have known for a proven&nbsp;fact&nbsp;she’d walk on it once she’d made contact with the unforgiving depths, as if she were the one who had turned water to wine.&nbsp;An Icarian fate she’d yet to pay the stark price for. The water came up to meet Melanie in the air, opening its watery jowls wide, swallowing her whole in hopes of drowning her before she even hit the surface. A thousand white suns watching her flailing arms, futile gasps for air and childish cries, allowing the taste of struggle to linger on their simple lips for that was their sickeningly saccharine palate of choice that evening. “A simpler death!“ they cry with a Cheshire grin, advising to drown and submit to their assumptions of her humane will. Grasping at a ladder made of soft clouds, looking back up to the mirror leading through to a softened nostalgic gaze of what her beloved room once was, where she had naïvely started, she uselessly managed just a single hand out of the potent petrol water to reach for this comfortingly soft ladder.&nbsp;Melanie felt faint one grey summer breeze, desperately wanting to listen, nod, agree, get on her knees, beg, frankly anything to appease those blinding white suns! Just to lessen the pulling weight of the darkest nights looming beneath her liquid fate. To breathe, she couldn’t breathe, breathe, help her breathe, how could she breathe? She can’t breathe. Catching a few wisps of lucky spontaneous breath before beginning to shut her eyes and be guided to the depths. In her ostensible final moments, she looked back on her life and how she’d gotten into this pelagic mess in the first place, forgetting she’d been the one to have taken that leap into the unforgiving silver-decorated mirror. Melanie‘s fault, that’s what this was. Now in the sludgy thicket of the depths, Melanie was sinking further and further into the dark waters to her demise. No longer pierced the light of the thousand suns into her life and with that, the murky depths. A comforting silence, enveloped her, the pressure of the darkest navy depths encompassing her tighter and tighter in a sinister embrace.&nbsp;It was all her fault, she chose to leap through the tempting reflective blue and now she found herself here. It was simply a&nbsp;silly dream&nbsp;that would soon vanish, just as with her life; now ready to succumb to the will and advice of the thousand suns, and drown. “It&nbsp;was&nbsp;just&nbsp;a dream?“ She opens her eyes in a start, her whole being, past, present, and future being overflown with an unmatched, raw carnivorous fury. Scratching at the tapestry, gasping, grasping up for air while being pushed under by a thousand eyes watching me, was “just“&nbsp;to pursue a&nbsp;silly&nbsp;“dream“? Melanie hadn’t pushed herself beyond her limits for a mere&nbsp;dream!&nbsp;“Dreams are for children, “ she thought violently as her cheeks flushed a brutal red, biting her tongue to amass to a bitterly bloody colouring of the water.Alas, it was too late; no matter how much she kicked and screamed, cried out, and swore for vengeance, she was far too deep in the thicket of the murky, now bloody, depths. Her curtains torn shut, the performance she danced to the brutal end, cut short; a stage light crashed on her head, handicapping her reach for the stars. Melanie is dead.Her body left limp to float in the thick, murky, ever-dark, bloody, petrol water for eternity. A life of attempted virtue now sinful, she will be stuck in her purgatory waters until the end of time eternal. Forgotten. A personal hell gifted to her by the angels themselves. Though, one taste of pitiful mercy Melanie was destined. A glowing, golden light, interrupting the ever-dark depths of the murky water, grew grander and greater by the second. Gold streaks of thread composed this light, weaving around her like a cast of gentle nostalgic light. A fallen angel, opposing to the purgatory set out for her by others, was the source of these nostalgic threads. Her body still floating limply in the depths, her eyes though now open and awake. The sweet angel offered its hand to her, an act of charity. Unaware of its movement, her hand took the angels in it. The angels golden threads engulfed her quickly, surrounding her in a realm of pure golden light, holding her in a comforting embrace.She wasn’t alive nor dead in this realm, she was simply just there. Not standing, laying, sitting nor floating, just lucidly existing. The angel was all around her, this realm was them, their body; an embrace of impossible closeness and contact. In this realm, she found herself in a state of otherwordly peace, one she hadn’t needed to fight against, one she was destined to accept for its simplicity. An unmatched freedom, a wave of calm and belonging. She found herself closing her eyes, being wished a good morning by the gently smiling, fallen Angel as she lost consciousness.&nbsp; Gazing at the silver embellished mirror floating before her in that paradisical valley, now remembering how she got here, she gazed down at her hands. Hands, she found, that had been adorned with the thinnest,&nbsp;softest golden threads as priceless bracelets. She found herself walking toward the mirror against her will or choice with slow steps, that then turned to a quicked pace, to finally a frantic run. It didn’t matter how far she seemed to be moving, crushing and pushing past the tall grass, the mirror was never closer to her than before.Exhausted, she stopped, stumbling over her own feet and onto the ground. Gasping for air desperately, she looked up, only to find herself placed directly in front of the silver embellished mirror that was now set on a wall of prettily decorated wallpaper that was so delicately and artistically procured, it could have been a tapestry. The ground now turned to a soft beige carpet that she felt work itself between her fingers on the floor.She gazed up at the silver embellished mirror set on the breathtakingly decorated wall. Her energy now entirely depleted, she scratched at the tapestry to hoist herself up. The breathtaking wallpaper coming apart under her rampant fingernails, with every failed attempt she unwillingly scratched harder like a cat scratching at their owner‘s door to be allowed to enter.Finally, after what seemed an eternity in that beautifully decorated room, she stood. Gazing at the reflective blue finally face to face, tracing her hand against its silver embellished frame. Looking into it, entranced by her aspirations, she’d fall naïvely through with open arms, disregarding, eternally decamping from the comfort of her gentle room that had accompanied her for as long as she could remember. A room she grew to despise originally, unknowingly it becoming the only thing that could comfort her years later, while shredding her heart rabidly to smithereens like a starved dog due to the shattering knowledge of her having parted so carelessly with it. Melanie plunged into the reflective blue claiming to have known for a proven&nbsp;fact&nbsp;she’d walk on it once she’d made contact with the unforgiving depths, as if she were the one who had turned water to wine. The End.&nbsp;&nbsp;

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Scratching at the tapestry

Joe_Maguire

Joe Maguire

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Scratching at the tapestry

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