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Beneath the boundless expanse of the sky, I stood amidst the undulating sea of wheat, its pale stalks swaying gently in the breeze. Soil clung to my bare feet, grounding me in the moment as I grinned with unbridled joy.
Each step I took caused the earth to yield beneath me, damp and tickling, a comforting embrace. The breeze teasing the fine hairs on my arms like the touch of sweet syrup on warm pancakes.
As my feet moved towards the edges of a paddy, I paused only to pluck an unruly flower. This rapid and looping moment, the best of moments. Heavy with questions amidst the serenity.
Why?
Why am I here?
Why now?
“You are not supposed to be here.” A voice whispered in urgency.
Memories, tacky and rapid fire, a voice my own that I’d rather go away. Threatening to overwhelm. They should swivel and go with the wind, remain without detail, a remain of a beautiful and impeccable picture drawn from memory.
Then, in an instant, the idyllic scene fractured. Light gave way to darkness, warmth to coldness, as though a switch had been flipped. It was not the poetic demise of movies, but a visceral assault on my senses.
The perception of stench, a decay heavy in the air, a grotesque reminder of that day.
Years removed from the wheat field, I lay in a cramped apartment. Sounds of the city invading my restless sleep, a place I grew up, a real tangible place, still carries memories so vivid and unyielding.
Lost in the passage of time, I am adrift, unable to anchor myself in the present. As I close my eyes, I hear strident screams.
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