𝟏𝟏𝟕 | "In another life"

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CHAPTER 117 — IN ANOTHER LIFE
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"I know there may be universes out there where I made different choices and they led me somewhere else, led me to someone else. And my heart breaks for every single version of me that didn't end up with you."
Taylor Jenkins Reid




Where am I?

The glare of the sun was frightful, a large orange globe pulsating against my closed eyelids. When I opened my eyes, the world was white, and soon an assemblage of colours formed what I knew to be a paradise that laid beneath my feet. Of soft, vibrant grass that spun like a spindle of pure silk brushing through my finger tips and endless fields of flowers I could name at the top of my head.

Hyacinths, chrysanthemums, lilies, dahlias, marigolds, wisteria- an assortment scattered around and glistened in the sunlight, as if the stars had fallen from the sky and decorated the earth with its vivid luminescence. I wondered, for a moment, what I was doing before I had fallen asleep on the fields underneath the sun's beaming rays. What dream I had dreamt that left my heart pounding and my hands clammed with sweat, as if I was moments away from seeing something that I shouldn't have witnessed- that through a distorted version of reality, I'd lived a long life that left me yearning for a type of sleep that was sempiternal.

I spent a couple of minutes staring out into the field, the sun was soon to set, but something didn't feel right. I felt it deep in my bones, a feeling that couldn't be described- an absence of an important memory. Perhaps, my fatigue had distracted me from the true purpose of my visit; to collect a bundle of flowers.

You're losing time.

And so, I rubbed the sleep away from my eyes and presumed my work. For some reason, my hands seemed drawn to the wisteria. There was nothing particularly special about the flower, though, it was known for its protective properties- surely there were other flowers in the field that were more desirable, prettier even? However, my decision had been finalised, by whom? I wasn't sure, something just told me that I had no choice, that my hands weren't my own but another's and that my eyes had seen many things it chose not to remember. There was more to unravel, a story that had yet to be told.

When I glanced at my hands, I could've sworn my skin had been marred with callouses, cuts, bathed in blood and wielding a weapon made to kill. It was an intrusive thought that raised the hairs on my skin and made me shudder, I humoured the thought as if logic wasn't logic- but a facade, a lie I had constantly told myself in order to believe otherwise.

You have to find your way back.

The journey home was fleeting, as if I was a lonely traveller who relied on instinct to find her way back home. Although, the more I tried to envision what my home looked like, where I lived, the explicit details- my mind was as blank as a canvas, and what engulfed me wasn't an image, but an emotion- an overwhelming feeling that almost made me drop the woven basket I had in my hand. It made me wonder what the origin of my sadness was, why, when I thought of home- I also thought of grief, of an acceptance that my home may very well be a figment of my imagination. Or that it had once existed in some realm of space and time, but not anymore.

A quaint, hut appeared within my vision on the other side of the light stream congested with pebbles and rocks. By now, the sun had halved and my heart was pounding with worry, if I hadn't gotten home in time- I would've been travelling in the dark with nothing but a basket of flowers to protect myself with. I vaguely remembered my mother's voice telling me that all sort of monsters lurked in the dark, if I wasn't careful enough- I'd be their next prey. At least, to whomever lurked in the forest at these hours.

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