The resonation of a flute cut through the early morning mist with the intensity of a sharpened blade slicing paper thin skin. The sound caused her ears to ache and her already spinning mind to become lighter. She crouched with her hands pressed tightly against her ears and her eyes shut. An ironical feat – the majory of her demons lived inside her mind, not needing the ficklety of her senses to hold her hostage. They especially liked days like these- dark and barren of hope.
Especially him. But the presence in her mind that reveled in the disposition of a shadowed sky seemed oblivious to the overcast day; its usual glee on the plethora of despodence that was her mind was absent.
She found that in its absence prevailed a strange calm, not enticing any positive emotions in its place. The strange sound then crackled and ceased as though her thoughs were too diabolical for it to torment her further. She rose quietly, her feet bare on the grass. Its blades seemed ever too eager to make tiny pinpricks into her skin as she wandered listlessly in the large garden. The shades of green irritated her then- there was sage and emerald and jade. It’s hideous. She tried to convince herself. It’s all too flamboyant. As vengeance she started scattering dew drops by flicking them from the leaves. Unsatisfied, she took to ripping the leaves off from the plants, its sharp thorns drawing blood on her pale hands. Within a few minutes her hands were shaking, her breathing was laboured and the sky seemed to bleed gray and black, dispelling any notion of a rising sun.
Where are you? Her thoughts were a desperate plea. But the purr in her mind remained dormant, or– and the horror of the possibily could have stopped her heart for a few seconds, was completely gone– the now copious amount of blood covering her arms drew her attention, a blessed relief from her blackened heart and its blackened musings. Her nails had been digging into her palms, and the thorns had opened further wounds. But the pain was so monotonous in its being that it became one of the many unrippled, constant thread like pieces of her mind. That’s a lot more blood than usual little bird. The purr resonated in her mind and the relief brought tears to her eyes. Missed me?
A Weaver's Maze 