A Still World

Our hero remains motionless and yet with every desire to disturb the vast slate of lake- wide, eternal, and perfect before her. It could be the envy of ice. It twists the trees upside down into countless dark stalagtites. The decaying old dock drifts forward at the dizzying speed of her thoughts as though on a subconscious wish to escape the ten year growth spurt she unwittingly had. For in the midst of a thousand ridiculous, random and impossible experiences- where does the time go? 

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She knew everything about everything once. Now she sits alone, almost naked on an old bed of splintered wood held in the grip of a medication she thought she never needed: A dose of an unchanging, ancient nature telling her she knows but a clean slate today, and tomorra and the next day. And her loud mind- all a frenzy- it wishes for eternal imprisonment here.

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