Today was a day of color. Looking up into the sky, I noticed clouds twisting and spreading their color to each other as the sun buried itself in the dark mountainside. Days such as these were rare now, and for a moment I could see the memories each color carried with it across the evening sky. The bright pinks of sitting under the cherry tree in the backyard clashed with the deep blues of bruises across my legs after soccer games. It was as if the memories were at war, clashing for the place as the most significant imprint in my mind. However, this didn't feel alien to me. After all, almost everything revolved around a war for almost a year now.
I foolishly allowed myself to become transfixed on the colors and silence of the setting sun. In what felt like mere moments passing by, several minutes had come and gone, leaving me with nothing but the silhouettes of the thick white oak trees. The temperature dropped quickly, and I glanced up at the tree canopy to notice the forest surprisingly barren of leaves for this time of year. How this did not resonate in my mind until now I do not know, as I had already wasted enough time looking up tonight. I find it ironic that no matter the amount of time I spent surviving alone, it was always the simple precautions that I failed to take. I'm fortunate to say it hasn't been my downfall; not yet at least.
I must have been standing there in the cold for nearly twenty minutes now, and it was not until I acknowledged the buzzing sound slowly becoming louder that I recognized my mistake. Before I could reach into my bag and prevent my Achilles' heel from revealing itself, I collapsed to one knee in pain. My head pulsed with increasingly stronger explosions of pain as if it was the slow crescendo of a drum. I ground my teeth and fumbled with the small left pocket of my bag, finally succeeding in removing a small cylinder container. I threw the bag aside as my body wrenched onto all fours. I vomited on the ground in front of me before untwisting the cap on the container and dumping a small tan pill into the palm of my hand. I swallowed it quickly, ignoring the taste of dirt and vomit in my mouth, and forced myself to stand up.
Wiping my mouth, the pain in my head quickly attenuated, and I twisted the cap back onto my pill bottle. Exhausted, I shuffled over to my bag and placed the bottle back into it's designated pocket. I stared at the clouds I was only recently lost in and noticed that all color was drained from the sky. I pondered why I had become so content staring into them, but only momentarily. Time was precious, and I had ignorantly wasted much of it already. I lifted my bag and stole one final glance at the sky. I considered resting for a while, as I was extremely drained of energy. I decided against it, however; I needed to make up for lost time before anything else. Looking back down at the path in the low brush ahead of me, I listened to the silence of the world around me. The memories had faded along with the colors, and all that remained was a sour taste in my mouth. I'm not sure whether it was the vomit or the silence that caused that sour taste, and I don't think I ever will be. Regardless, I softly exhaled and trudged on in the night, already regretting ever looking away from the path ahead of me.
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing