My eyes opened slowly, attempting to adjust to the warm light. When they did, a smile broke open across my face.

Greens so bright they were nearly neon danced above me as the enormous leaves waved in the winds high above. Trees rivaling skyscrapers touched the clouds that rolled across a beautiful blue sky high above, their trunks filled with all manner of life. Chiatas darted across the lower, smaller branches, and Armun birds coloured a vibrant violet nested in the tops. Bridges of wood and rope spanned across the canopy above, miniature in comparison to the trees they clung to. At their roots flora dotted the glade I lie in, magenta and yellow flowers. One had only five or six petals, all clinging to the centre where stamins with orange dust rose from within.

Some kind of bird whistled in the trees, it’s body hidden by the leaves. It’s tune felt slightly off, as if it was supposed to be played in a different chord.

“Perhaps she’s forgotten her song.” I muttered, listening to the other sounds that echoed around me. Bugs made skittering sounds somewhere in the field, the little people high above chatted as they ran along their bridges and went about their daily lives.

“They want us!” One shouted, almost excited.

“It’s here!” another gasped, both only just loud enough to stand out in the crow of voices.

I wondered what the sentences meant, wondered why the people hadn’t fallen from their tree’s yet.

“Why would they fall?” I wondered suddenly. My eyes turned to their bridges, which shook every time someone dashed across.

“Be careful,” I called, “Those bridges need replacing.” Why were there bridges in the trees? Why were the trees so big? Why are the flowers so pretty, so colourful?

“Because,” My brian supplied, “We’re Here. Why would the flowers look any different? Why would the people live near the roots? You’ve never seen anything else. You only remember it Here.

I shrugged, “You’re right, me. I’m just thinking silly.” The conversation happened all in my mind, like most conversations Here did.

A particular Arumun a dark magenta colour dropped down from the canopy it’s four wings spreading open to catch the wind.

“How beautiful.” We thought, me and my mind together. Shadows danced beneath it as it flew, the People of the Darkness playing in its wake.

“I don’t remember that.” I muttered, watching the humanoid shadows dance and smile. The Arumun bird flew closer to me, it’s four wings flapping silently above, each looking off just a little, out of sync in a way not physical…

“You remember the shadows, you remember Aisha and Con, you played tag with them just last night. The bird looks off because it’s wing is broken, don’t you see?” I stared at the bird, watched the way it flew, watched it well.

No, I was sure, the bird’s wing was quite all right.

“Yes. It’s broken, see?” I glanced up, hearing a scream echo across the meadow, a shrill from deep in it’s chest. His back wing, on the left; it cracked, mangled itself and simply stopped.

“I see now.” I whispered, my mind joining my own voice, “It’s alright, it was broken.”

Something deep within my chest rustled at the thought; No, it’s not, it said. Not while you’re here, not while It’s in control.

“Are you sure we’re alright, you seem so paranoid lately…” My mind asked, letting itself trail off.

Should minds talk? If it’s perfect Here, why do I feel so off? We don’t remember that species of bird, and the shadow people-

“Maybe you should see the Shaman, you sound ill.” My brain interrupted, pushing away the thoughts, making me forget- what? Forget what? There was something here, there was a memory, I’m so sure.

No, there never was. We just want to remember something else-

“No I don’t. We don’t remember something important. What are you keeping from me?”

I could feel my brain as one sees another person, I could feel it’s tone soften with concern, “I haven’t kept anything from you. How could I? You control me, remember. You use me to think and to store memories. You have the key to me, how could I stop you without a lock?”

“You have kept something.” I insisted, “Let me remember, I want to know.” My voice rose, teetering on the edge of anger now.

No, “No.” no.

“See the trees? How beautiful.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I watched little people run across wooden bridges, all lost in conversation. A bright violet Arumun bird sat in it’s nest above, nursing a broken wing.

I closed my eyes, letting the faint green sunlight wash over me as i settled into the soft clovers below, “Yes, isn’t it. It’s so beautiful. I love it Here.” I muttered to myself, nodding off.

Yes, yes you do.

I wish for colours; I want them to swirl in my vision, green, purple and blue washing the world and blending together. I wish I could smell the stale air of that sour arcade, I wish I could see the lights bounce off quarters as they were shoved into yet another scamming circut board. I want to see the zig-zags and swirls of that age-old carpet dance in the ever-changing blue. The stale air has it's charm, you'll find. The theiving games are sweet once you make friends. This is where I want to remain, until I am as old as the gum-cacked carpet below.

Her.

The best possible way to describe what I saw, the only nearly-adequate way to describe the warm tone and romanic feeling of the colour that filled my vision. It was Her. Not any woman specifically, just the collective kindness of them, their compassion and the way their eyeslids slowly fell and the way they smiled in the dark evening. It was Her. It was her little gestures of romance and her own lyrics scribbled across a page and the scratched thumbnails of future art and her poems typed hastily into the note's app and her face in the glass as she watched the world rush by in a blur as she simply lived. That was it, I decided. It was Her.

#Plexiglassfruit