No. It can’t be true. It can’t. In what universe does this make sense? Because it’s not mine.
I stumble down the hall, then one of the proper high heels I’m wearing slides off. I hobble a few steps, then kick off the other shoe. Barefoot now, the cold marble floor hurts with each pound of my running feet, but I need to escape. I fly past room after room and finally reach the elevator. No time to wait for it to climb two floors, I push through the door to the stairway instead and race down.
When I get to the ground floor at last I can almost feel safety. I run into someone as I rush through the lobby. He nearly drops a rust-spattered metal pot, and as I turn to mutter a quick apology I notice there’s a ziplock sandwich bag taped on top. He’s cute in a scruffy sort of way, and his bright red converse stand out against the muted earth tones of the rest of his outfit.
Earth. I’m almost there. I head to the door. There’s a little garden in the middle of the parking lot, which is an odd place for nature, but that’s my destination. My feet barely register the smooth stone sidewalk or the rough asphalt of the parking lot, and through my tears I can’t see if there are cars about to hit me.
At last my feet reach grass. I stop and sigh. It’s wet and I can tell the sprinklers were on recently, but that just makes everything good and soft. I curl my toes and they squish in the damp soil. This is where I belong.
This is where Grams belongs. In the garden with me, where she can tell me all the familiar stories about where she met Gramps and how he wooed her with roses and hyacinths. I squat down and let my fingers touch the earth. It’s not real. This is what is real. Not cancer.
This post is my contribution to the #creativebeing prompt of the week. It is a work of fiction and therefore is not autobiographical. The prompt is as follows:
Represent the element of EARTH. Earth is the name of our gorgeous planet, a rocky body orbiting the sun whose name comes from the Old English word, eorthe. It’s also what we call soil, the stuff all our food comes from – and where we will eventually go for a long sleep. There’s even a whole film, ‘Dirt‘, all about the soil!
Think about the meanings of the word, the smell of rain on a flowerbed, the feeling of mud squishing beneath your toes…. think about all the things Earth means to you. Then…..write, photograph, draw, paint, collage whatever takes your fancy. You could even make something out of earth, I do it all the time.
This is a sad but beautiful story, I love the need to connect with the earth when facing difficult circumstances, it really speaks to me
Thanks! I love it when someone tells me that something I wrote spoke to them.
If I didn’t know better I’d swear that you were present at my dx. My urge to run out and connect with the earth at that point and time was so strong. thank you for taking me there again as I explore Earth again.
You’re welcome, and thanks for the comment!