Cajoled by the cool evening air, scented with wild red roses, she walked towards the woods at the back of her Spartan cottage, following the call of native birds and gurgling streams. Like Blindman’s Bluff, she thought, with another small giggle. Giggles, chuckles, smiles… not so long ago, she had absolutely no recollection of how they sounded when they zip-clawed their way up her throat and nasal passage. But, right at that moment, everything seemed so funny. She lifted her hands to the skies, looked up and laughed like she never had. As her unbridled glee echoed through the mist and olive green, earth and flowers in mid-preen, a leaf rustled. Two stems clapped against each other. A ladybird waltzed with a flea, atop a wild boar’s back. Streams rushed down slopes, hastily petting the pebbles and moss along their way. The wet earth released its mineral-laced aroma. All the while, her neighbours, the mountains, patiently packed the gigantic, growing ball of energy with the twine of their own goodwill. They tossed it at her, finally. And, as her laughter finally showed signs of extinguishing, she was jolted by the electricity of the special parcel that surged through her fingertips, through her inner labyrinth.
She had run away from home. She had run away from life. But, she would be fine, she mused, heading to her fragrant, hay-and-honey-suckle stuffed bed of, what she hoped would one day be, eternal sleep.
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