Remember...
The grass was crisp and rigid. So often at this time of year, it felt as though Mother Nature had suffered a moment of absent thought. Leaving an echo of the summer months to linger through the fall-of-leaves before making a hurried attempt to flick the heat off in a panic the day after Halloween. So, even though the morning was bright, almost blinding, the blades of grass were dusted with the radiant crystals of winter.
Despite the cold beneath her feet, she found a deep sense of satisfaction from the crunching sound of her weight on the terrain. Each footstep an act of deliberate destruction, collapsing the abode of insects. For a moment she thought about stepping back inside, back into the world of radiators, chairs that swaddled her whole body, plump cushions and food. There was always food to be discovered and devoured within those walls. She felt her attention slip from thoughts of the changing season and come to rest in her stomach. Hungry? No. The meals being conjured by her imagination would wait. This was the time for exploration, for reacquainting herself with the Earth in its sleeping colours. The whites, blues, and faded yellows sitting in stark contrast against a blanket of stubborn green. Lawns only faded in the summer - starved of rainfall and punished by a relentless sun. But in the winter grass could gorge itself on slipshod water, too heavy to remain in the sky, resting in a stupor at the approach of dawn.
Out of the gate and onto the path. The uneven paving slabs and tar snakes had never been a match for her sure-footed strides. Unexpected tumbles had never been her forte.
In through another gate, a neighbouring garden; even the familiar piqued her curiosity. That gratifying sound of worlds demolished was diminished here. The sun that had yet to lay its golden fingers upon her home and already begun its work in this little enclave. Soft, damp and chilled ground felt much like a deep-piled rug that had been left to spoil in the elements. The scent, however, was fresh, unadulterated by people and vehicles soon to begin their arduous task of to-ing and fro-ing. Looking miserable as they left, and even more so as they returned.
She preferred this garden to her own, a treasure trove of unearthed delights for the restless-minded. She didn’t mind the fact that the carved granite bird-bath held nothing but stagnant, undrinkable water ringed with moss and grime, as there was always something abandoned without care or tucked away by accident for her to encounter. They made this place for her.
Her awareness was seized by an almost iridescent, coloured ball formed from the plastic that remains slippery regardless of how it is touched. It sat within the wild growth at the base of a fence made discoloured and porous by the morning dew. Making careful judgments about how and where to step, she eased forward keeping alert for any signs of an unexpected invasion into her private investigation.
Another aroma. Something recognised. Something desired. Pure, brisk and refreshing. Wild mint. She bathed in the fragrance, opening her mouth slightly to allow the bracing air to carry the flavoured mist onto her tongue. Just one leaf…
Remember! The word sprung into her mind fully formed - no long rambling train, no bubbles of confused meandering. Remember. They had tempted her before - the cool leaves sweetening her saliva and flowing like a fresh breeze through her nostrils. She had over indulged, an easy feat for someone so small, and her stomach had groaned and bloated in its discontent - initially with an unwelcome surge of angry chemicals, then with full regurgitation. The following days had been spent in a sea of queasiness, pain and a fear of any food placed before her. Remember.
She forced herself to return her interrupted attention to the radiant sphere that had initially brought her into the path of the appetising but dangerous plant. She nudged its sleek surface, rolled it forwards and backwards questioning both its movement and how much control she could exert upon it. Crouching, she placed it against her nose. True cold. The cold of lifelessness that could only be felt upon inanimate objects. She wanted to take it, snatch it away and claim it as a trophy dedicated to her own ingenuity - her very own pirate’s chest. But, sinking into her own conscience, she told herself it didn't really belong to her - it would stain her mind as a constant reminder of trespass and theft. The reality was that her thick coat had no pockets to speak of; at least not one large enough to obscure her crime. She wondered if she should taste it before leaving; place her tongue on the frigid surface hoping to pick up a feint suggestion of the forbidden plant. The memory of her stomach, bloated and in turmoil, answered the question for her.
But, tucking the trinket away, further into the undergrowth could do no harm, could it? There was still the chance it could, in time, be considered lost to whoever owned it, and her’s to claim. Tomorrow, perhaps…
The rest of the world was waking now, bring noise and discomfort to the grey pavements and black roads. Now was the time to be careful; distracted adults paid infrequent attention to anything other than their final destination. Their clothes displayed a sudden change like the season itself. Bright and airy cottons that had been considered essential just a few days before, abandoned and replaced by subdued woollens in shades of navy and gun-metal.
Their faces ashen and drawn, even the plump ones, as though resigned to the idea that the sun had withdrawn its affection. A little sympathy rose within her for those who could not feel, nor even imagine, the wonder of a sleeping planet. A momentary pause, to watch them. Curiosity begging to know how such a slight chill could bring them so low. Unlike them, she had so much more to explore, and a weakened drowsy sun would head to bed so much earlier in the days of dormancy, casting shadows over already hidden treats.
Darting out of the way of their heavy, defeated footsteps, she squeezed herself around a white-bricked corner. This road was home to the evergreens, lush in their perpetual fertility and defiant against the approach of the long nights. She was like them, and they like her - gutsy, audacious rule-breakers.
But then…
She felt it before she heard it. Crashing into her bones, stealing the air from tiny lungs. Her speed, her flight, became plain only at the sight of unknown territory. Naked trees, grass forcing its way through unsteady concrete and buildings so tall that they must have ended in the realm of the clouds. Her blood bulged and raged against the confines of her veins. Waking nightmares expanded, exploded until they had pushed all rational thought out of her mind, leaving nothing but raw, vivid images of manifesting fear. Behind her lay carnage, she was certain of that; broken hearths, charred bodies, blindness, deafness - life changed in a horrid, irrevocable way. What had broken the ceasefire?