You could have saved her.
I squint into darkness.
Not darkness – shadow.
A twisted canopy, tendrils obscuring a glowing door.
Flapping echoes above.
You could have.
I lunge forward. Roots snake, grabbing my wrists and ankles. I rip and tear wildly.
Why didn’t you?
Vines encircle my throat.
The flapping. A voice thunders.
“Remember.”
I see myself, running, cradling something too small, too delicate. Heat. Blood pounding, lungs burning. Still I run. God, the heat. My vision fades.
The thicket recedes.
Massive ivory wings beat, drying my tears.
“It was impossible,” I whisper.
The path clears.
The door opens.
Leave a Reply