She felt the echo before she heard it. Perhaps she didn’t feel the echo at all. Perhaps she was jarred from hearing the sound for the first time and it deceived her senses. How does one feel an echo after all?
The sky was polluted with what appeared to be giant heavy gray snowflakes, layering every surface they discovered. Burning streams of fire laced the mountainside. She felt these burning streams course through the marrow of her bones before, when he told her he loved her, when their skin touched in all its naked glory, and when he said goodbye.
Bitterness was the anchoring tree trunk she clung to, as she watched others swept away by ensuing storms. She wasn’t sure why she held to anything at all when she could have so easily let go to join the flood of the mangled, the broken; swallowed by the muddy earth.
The aftermath had a stench, with putrid threads that wove the unconnected and uncomfortable into a carpet of crushed bone and branch, land and life, on which to rest a while and thrive again. Her bare feet were pricked with the layers of debris he left behind for her to walk upon. Her lips were scorched by the heat of his nearly-forgotten kiss. Her heart? There was nothing of it left to salvage.
She waited by the side of the road for rescue, weakness proving to be her only strength. She’d survived – so what.
Image courtesy of Microsoft Office ClipArt