Collecting Love

Chapter 2

The smoke rises from the ruins of my village, turning the sky grey and making billowing figures in the sky as it slowly fades away. The wind that tore through the village while the fire raged on and helped the flames spread now carefully strokes the singed grass as if afraid to blow harder, rougher, after what has happened here, and it is a small miracle there is any grass left at all to rustle in the wind.

I do not know how long I stand under the old oak tree on the hill next to my village after the Collectors have gone. When you have watched your home turn to ashes and rock on the ground, time is not important. It simply passes, and why should you care? There is nothing left to wake you from your trance. No one is waiting for you to move.

And so you stand. Still.

The sun has risen to its highest point in the sky and is slowly making its way down, sinking closer to the horizon for every forever that passes. Many of those pass, I think, before I myself begin to make my journey down to what was my home.

In my mind, my journey is long. I cross oceans, deserts, mountains before even nearing my goal.

In reality, I walk downhill and cross a small grass field in a few long strides. Then I am there.

I stand at the very edge of my village. It is surprising how the flames have destroyed it so completely, the houses, the roads, the people, but the grass outside the village is left completely untouched. There is a distinct line that shows the border all around it, and the world outside is left oblivious to this mess.

Out here, the grass is green. The birds are singing. The world outside of my town is glad that it was not subjected to the fire, and I can hear it sing its relief with every breath I take.

I stare at my feet. They are bare. My shoes are no doubt gone, ashes and smoke by now. My toes are blistered from the heat, and the soles of my feet are worn raw from when I fled. I wear nothing more than my nightgown, as it was early morning when the fire broke out. My simple white dress is blackened at the hem, my legs scarred and sore from standing for so long.

My hair is singed at the edges and smells like smoke, although I can't quite tell if that smell is from the village or from my hair. I have no doubt my face is as full of soot as the rest of me is.

I keep staring down at my feet, not ready to face the ruins of my home just yet. I am afraid of what I will find. I know soon I must look up. When I'm ready.

I take a while to prepare myself. I listen to the sounds of nature out here, try to enjoy the feel of the ground under my feet. I can't appreciate the sun on my neck or the cool wind trying to wrap my gown around my legs as if to keep me warm.

The frogs in the nearby pond begin to croak impatiently. The wind increases its intensity and I know cannot stall any longer.

I take one step forward, my feet hitting scorched ground, and look up.

The atmosphere of the village hits me with full force and I waver on my feet. Shocked, I suck in a breath, inhaling smoke and sooty air. I cough and retch, my lungs burning as though I had inhaled deeply through grandfather's pipe.

A ghost feeling is in the air, the same feeling that was when the fire raged lingers in the air. I can smell the panic, the fear, the horror.

My eyes cloud over and suddenly I can see the people fleeing, crying and screaming, watching loved ones burn and die before their eyes and passing out from smoke fumes. I can hear them, too. They sob and the sounds are so heart wrenching that I feel as though my chest is being ripped open and my eyes fill with unshed tears for the souls lost.

Suddenly I can feel it, too, and I burn. Even if I'm not on fire the heat is so intense it feels as though my body has caught fire and my vision goes black. I cough on smoke I can feel as if it was real, so solid I can almost touch it. Thick and black it fills my lungs and engulfs my body. The wind swallows up my strangled cry.