Back in the grey wasteland again.
the divide.
the line between life and death. i've been here before.
Once and a while, every hour or so, crimson would flow from two spots in my chest.
i dont want to die.
something different.
one daisy, then two, then three. Soon at least hundred daisies spring up.
Run into the field of them, lay in the soft flowers. partake in the calm.
lay on my back, and watch as a black cloud of smoke sweeps the small petals off the flowers, ripping, tearing the very bonds that hold them together.
try to catch the petals. they cant leave. the daisies cannot go. But my hands are no match to the force that takes them.
the blood starts again. im laying face up in the grey.
something new.
a jolt, almost a shock. electrical. my chest lifts up from where i lay.
it happens one, two, three more times.
soon, i lie still.
i miss the daisy, i miss my red-petaled best friend.
but the calm is comforting.
But I need to get back.
To stay alive.
