When the sun is out, the field is a bright red, supposedly. It’s too hot on those days to come here, since there are no trees around the field for shade. Overcast days like today are the best time to come around. The tall grasses may not glitter like rubies today, but instead shimmer a mild magenta.
It’s nice travelling through that sea, easily weaving through it in a way that doesn’t disturb the waves – thanks to experience. The grass almost feels like stroking a kitten’s fur, but more solid.
Who knew that following that little trail of red grass would lead you to such a place?
~
They don’t want to play with you. The kids in your class, that is. They call you a weirdo.
Sometimes it will be in a casual tone, like they’re calling you by your actual name. Other times they will say it like it’s the name of a disease.
How? Mom says that you’re not weird. You have two eyes, a nose, four limbs, two ears, and a mouth, just like everyone else. But the other kids aren’t Mom, because they still think you’re weird.
You just don’t get it.
~
When you enter the field this afternoon – not that the cloudfull sky confirms the time – the fog is looming around its edges, dissipating into the distant hills. Too bad. This is day better left not existing.
You came all this way… Might as well stroll around.
… It’s really quiet here. You almost say it out loud, but… Something might break if you do. You’ve never once said a word when you’re here. There’s just no point, no one here you have to talk over or get interrupted by, no one you are obligated to talk, tell, or explain things to. Even most of the bugs keep out of Magenta Sea.
Perhaps it is a bit weird.
You let your hand hover over a few blades, but don’t touch. This is not a time to exist.
~
Can’t you just be normal for once?
Even the teacher, Ms. Burns, had to drop a comment about you ‘not being placed right in the rhubarb patch.’ No one even eats rhubarbs, or is that just you being ‘weird’ again!?
Who knows? You certainly don’t!
Heat begins racing up your arm. Shit, you’re scratching the wrist again. The blackening bushes above aren’t giving you much light, but you can feel the wet beads of blood form and trail down, dripping into some rusty blades of Magenta Sea.
Maybe it’s the lack of good lighting, but you can’t see the stains. With a sigh, you take a handkerchief from your satchel and wrap the wrist.
~
When did that trail get there?
You were about to turn back because it’s getting darker, until you noticed a trench in the Magenta Sea. You trace it… Until you’re looking at your own. Two. Feet.
It’s you. You split the seas.
The next minute, the world is mad spirals of greys and rusted reds. The blades hit your face again and again and again and aGaiN! It only slows down when a pulsating buzzing starts to swell your brain.
Your head just reaches over the shimmering ripples. Picking a few of the thick blades, you wrap them nicely around your wrists, because – oops! – they are bleeding again! The blades slashed them and now they will cover them. They match so nIceLy, now no one can see them! Maybe now, you won’t have to see that righteous dipshit Wycunt or whatever that ‘therapist’s’ name is! No amount of explaining your being will do sHIT!
A grin stretches across your face as the buzzing grows dull. You scan the clearing and swim for your usual entrance. You know where it is, a hoarse voice like yours even declares it from somewhere very close by:
“There’s nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home.”
ns 15.158.61.51da2
