A distance wind blew in the field, the chill cutting to the bone like a knife. The sun was high in the cloudless, blue sky. Neither the miles of knee high grass nor the multitude of flowers moved against it. They continued to soak in the eternal sun, knowing that for them night would never come, that the rain will not fall, they will never be uprooted. All they needed was the sun for their sustenance. The wind touched nothing but her.
It came from behind her. The lower half of her robes snapped forward violently in the air, as if lashing out in an impotent anger. She settled them against her and started to move forward. The wind continued on her back, urging on her quicker, making sure she knew that this land was no longer home. Her bare feet found all the stones on the ground. They scratched and prodded, bringing forward blood. She held her head high, not letting a minute expression of pain cross her face. They could see her, she was sure of it, and her dignity was the last of her armor. It was full of holes, it was tarnished, and it so very heavy, but it was what she had left, and she clung to it like a child to the breast.
The field is surrounded on three sides by a far off tree line, which always seemed to stay a step in front of the horizon no matter how far you walked towards it. There was no need to walk towards it, as the sun, the giver of all, was already above them, and they had the flowers and the water here. No fool would venture further. When she asked why no one ever explored, saw the land, felt a different ground under their feet, a wise man answered her, “Once you have found paradise, what is left except disappointments?” She had never found him that wise. And looking over the field as she left it, she realized how bare it was.
In the distance to the south, the one area not surrounded by trees, were the mountains. As she walked towards them they slowly got bigger. Already she could set the barren ledges. A terrible emotion rose in her chest, something quite unlike the unobtrusive bliss that had rested upon her soul since the rise of the sun. They called her evil, but who were they to say? When you live in the valley of immortal flowers, how do you recognize the scent of rotting? As if reading her thoughts, the wind blew harder, pushing her forward. It was colder than before and she crossed her arms against her chest, trying to warm herself. She would leave, but her pace would be of her own control.
As she walked she noticed how few colours she could see in the flowers. Some were a pale purple, some a violent yellow, the rest a dull pink. Where were the rest? She could remember days of running through blues, reds, oranges, blacks, and whites. She picked a dull pink one, smelling it in deeply. The aroma barely reached her nose before dying away quietly. Is this how the field presented itself once you were forsaken or did the forsaken have a sight the others didn’t?
She continued on, seeing the mountains growing in front of her. Her heart beat quicker, and her face felt flushed. She was going to leave and she would never be allowed to return. There had been others, she had seen at a couple, and they disappeared in the dust of the dead land a head. Would she them? Or would there be nothing but death?
She approached a familiar fountain with a golden statue rising from the pool of water. He is a beautiful nude man, his head titled towards the sky, with his right hand covering his mouth and his left hand covering his eyes. His body was male perfection, his full chest moving into his defined stomach which lead to the smooth area between his hips and beyond that his powerful legs. She had spent countless time sitting on the stone ridge of the fountain, staring up at him. She felt a kindred spirit within him, like if he had a choice he would move his hands away and see and scream an agonized sound. She moved quickly past him without stopping. She was thirsty, but the water was no longer hers.
She was closer now. She could see where the meadow sharply stopped and the endless sand began. She took hold of all her courage, quickening her pace. The wind had stopped, as if in these final moments the choice to take step should be hers.
On the boundary she stopped and looked back. She could see distant figures on the horizon. They were watching her from afar, too afraid to come near in case her presence stained there’s. They must’ve hated her, but they must’ve also pitied her. She had pitied the others who left. But why? She look at the mountains ahead, but she looked beyond that. There could be anything out there. Water that wasn’t contained to a small fountain. A forest that enveloped you. Flowers that had colors she couldn’t yet imagine. She wasn’t banished. She was free.
She turned back to her path, smiled, and stepped over the boundary.
