The girl ran. Breathing, gasping, breathing, running. Euphoric. The world silent and uncomplicated. She saw: the wilderness grasping at the edge of the crumbling road, lumious light spilling from glazed house windows whose lawns were sprinkled with Spanish moss, the first stars beginning to play hide and seek across the sky, brilliant white plumes fading, bursts of orange-yellow-lavender and rose. She reached the top of the hill laughing at the sheer majesty of it all. Filled with happiness and that wonderful tired out your mind feeling. Alive, heart beating madly. The girl flew far far away from the reality she had always known. Her Mizuno's enabling her ascent. The ochre hill became a speck on a map. A voice in the back of her head; don't fly to close to the sun. She recklessly ran on.
The world is a magical place at seven-thirty four.
No comments:
Post a Comment