Thread: Ama's Babblings
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amarantine
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#5
Old 05-27-2009, 04:12 PM
4. "I Will Learn to Breathe, Again"

There was a small, gold leaf end table just inside the doors. It reminded her of a desk painted to resemble something Baroque. The desk was hidden in a small room by lace curtains and glass beads that glittered when sunlight hit them. She knew she’d been in the room; she just couldn’t place it in her mind. But she knew it was real.

Lying on this evocative circular end table was a single flower. She approached the table. No, it wasn’t a flower. It was a rose. A rose. She had never seen roses here before. Or any flowers, for that matter. She wondered where it came from. She picked it up. It felt dry and dead. The blossom, once a lovely pink, was faded far past its once brilliant hue. She brought the lifeless blossom to her nose and breathed in the faint remembrance of a scent.

Rose in hand, she walked across the room, the satin hem of her dress caressing her toes. Here was a blank parchment-colored wall, accented only by an old, dark wood framed mirror. It was impossible to keep from gazing into that large piece of glass. There she was—pale, dark hair, green eyes, glasses. She didn’t need to look to her neck to know that something was missing. It read on her face; in her eyes; on her heart. She looked down at the rose and then back to her reflection. She breathed in a shaky breath, turned her back to the glass, and sank to the floor. The rose fell from her hand to rest against the cream satin pooled about her knees tucked beneath her body. She cradled her head in her hands, doubling her chest over her knees. The rose had revealed something to her that she didn’t want to know—she was dead. Whether it was a physical death she couldn’t say. She had had her suspicions from the moment she awoke in that bed perhaps years ago. Apart from her night terrors, she felt nothing. Her face was a blank slate, as was her heart and mind. Even the scraps of dreams that floated about her days that seemed too real to be truly dreams, evoked no emotions. She didn’t want to dead—feelings were created for a reason, and she wanted to feel them; every last one. She choked on her thoughts, a dry sob caught in her chest and throat. Finally, she screamed; she howled. In the chaos that tumbled through her mind and body, one determined thought prevailed:

“I will learn to breathe again.”