Before she opens her eyes she can sense the dread. A wet cold bites hard. Remote warmth; like a cold night’s fire-pit too far away. Outdoor noises… crickets… bees? Happy muffled vibrant voices distant and unfamiliar. Mist in the nostrils…nostrils…the word is strange in her brain….have I ever spoken it aloud before? Body discomfort and aching, pulsing now…almost pain. A pungent odor; not unpleasant.
Why can't I open my eyes? The thought is more curious than panicked. She vaguely recalls being hypnotized once, and how it was impossible to do things that should be simple. The arm that could not be lifted, heavy with…what? Why is recalling this detail so…? Her thoughts are scrambled…morning fog?
I give my eyes permission to open… She calmly reminds her body it is safe. Familiar words, but why?
Her eyes relax open and join the other senses…a flood of data. The fog is thick, the ground cold and black…musky, like…what? A familiar smell…good, something familiar…something I know. She still hasn’t moved, lying down in the soft…? That’s the smell! Not manure but…compost. Green things around…bugs and worms investigating her parts. She startles upright. Purple flowers everywhere... that delicate but persistent one. Why doesn’t the rain pummel them down? The name…why can’t she…pansies! A small field…a garden. I’m lying in a garden. Where am I?
She stares down at the clothes on her body. My body? The jeans are too big, the plaid flannel shirt unknown. No shoes on the brown feet; no polish on the toes. Where are my shoes? What do my shoes look like? She notices the bulging denim pocket of her jeans...my jeans?...and reaches down to feel its contents. A scream...
A woman is running towards her.