For all my March writings! (If I'm active, that is)

Daily 2!
709 words
“It’s gonna be alright. I’m gonna be okay”
I whisper the words to myself, as I crawl to the edge of the branch. It’s mainly to try to reassure myself that I’m still alive so far. For a moment, I pause, taking in the night sky. And endless roll of black velvet studded with tiny diamonds. It makes me nostalgic. The sun will be up soon. It will be safe to go back down, to look for food.

I can’t do this. I wasn’t made for this. I was supposed to be sewing ribbons onto shes and altering jackets. Designing warmer coats and embroidering dresses. I was meant to have a needle and thread in my hand- not a crudely made torch.

I remember my last few moments with the others. We were all heading to the mountains for the winter festival. To put our skills to use. I remember looking out of the window of the bus- down te side of the twisty mountain road to the forest below. We weren’t that high up yet, I remember thinking. Fog rolled over the landscape, and I remember I paused. Was it meant to be like this?
If only I’d said something then. If only I’d gotten them to stop by the side, to be more careful driving.

But I didn’t. The storm came suddenly and swiftly, as if it had a purpose. Lightning crossed though the sky, which was a peculiar shade of blue. I used to think “storm blue” was a pretty colour. I will never be able to use fabric that shade again.

The next thing I remember was the forest. Alone, amongst the trees. The rain was slowing down then. Did it achieve what it wanted? Was this the purpose of that storm?

I grit my teeth, back to the present. The sky is no longer black. It has lightened, a royal blue. I once made a gown this shade. I trimmed the edges with silver fur, spent hours on the beadwork. “Make it shine” Were the instructions I was given. “Make it look like the sun when it shines on the ocean”. Right. The sun. The sun will come now. Maybe it will rain again. That way I’d get to restock on water. I’m running out.

I lift my free hand, lightly pressing it to my stomach. I need to go look for food. My other hand tightens on my torch. It’s little more than a rough stick of wood, wrapped in perfume soaked fabric. The remnants of a shawl I had once owned. I remember how that first night, I wished it would be warmer. How I trembled and shivered, regretting each quality I had praised in it before. Sheer, gauzy, diaphanous…I remember how in a sudden brilliant moment- a lighting strike of my own, my fingers tightened on the thin fabric. /Flammable/

I shake my head. I’m getting lost in the past again. That doesn’t matter anymore. I have to prioritise. Water. Food. Snow will come in soon, the ground’s white duvet. I needed to find a warmer place to stay. The sun finally makes an appearance. Weak light cuts through dark, followed by a gradient, a blend of light blue, orange, yellow, red- and white. Blinding, pure white.
“Winter sunrises are weak’ I’ve heard people say. But this isn’t. It’s beautiful. I wish I could somehow recreate this view someday. Someday if….I sigh, and inch back towards the tree trunk, ready to make my descent. Its no use hoping for the impossible.

That’s when I hear it.

A rhythmic, faint noise. /Thuk-thuk-thuk/

My heart is in my throat- it can’t be- I can't get my hopes up- I…

My thoughts trail off as I see it, sure as anything- the helicopter emerging through the sunrise. Almost like some sort of miracle. My eyes blur with tears. Can I start hoping now?

I silently promise myself- If I get back, I’m going to design the most breathtaking gown of my life. A winter sunrise, all those beautiful mixes of colour. And I’ll fashion it a gleaming brooch, that helicopter to pin over my heart.

I laugh, and let the torch slip out of my hands.

It’s gonna be alright. I’m gonna be okay.