12
Monie had
grown quiet. She looked about and saw an endless field of flowers.
Bealz's laughter rang all around her but she couldn't see him.
Something seemed to flit across her face. Like a spider's web
drifting along the breeze. She brushed at it annoyingly.
She
didn't see the trees.
She came
here often. Loved to stroll through the flowers at the bottom of the
hill that she always stepped out onto. She loved the scent of them,
the flowers. A beautifully aromatic explosion that filled her
senses, drove out the garbage stench of the city streets.
But she
only ever wanted to stroll through the flowers on her way to the
sanctity of the trees. She cherished the close, intimate feeling of
the woods. It seemed to reach out to her, as if it sensed her
longing, and wrapped itself around her in a soothing, oak and pine
and willowy comforter.
Now she
couldn't see the trees. They should be well within sight. The
little valley at the bottom of the hill was no more than a few
minutes stroll before it gave way to the first of them. Now the
flowers stretched on and on and Bealz's laughter echoed further and
further away.
Monie
brushed at her face, no longer annoyed. Now she was angry.
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