(Woot, 50th post! Just something I wrote at school, during math
. Kinda a gentle re-entry into 'prose' poetry...)
The Memory of Trees (poem version)
Shimmering illusions hang before my eyes
A red miasma hangs over my thoughts
And I know this is the end.
Collapsing-so numb I can't feel the ground.
But as the world goes dark
A forgotten image flashes into my failing vision
The memory of trees.
The Memory of Trees (story version)
She saw the images and knew they weren't there. They were just illusions. She hated the illusions. Summoning the last reserves of her strength, she tried to call to them, to make them disappear, though she knew it was futile. But her swollen tongue was like sandpaper in her mouth, and all she could manage was a strangled croak. The mirages shimmered, perfectly clear, laughing at her sad attempt. But then, in a strange, sudden expression of pity, her vision went dark and the cruel mirages winked out of existence. Her aching limbs could hold her no longer. She collapsed, but was so numbed by exhaustion that she couldn't feel the sand beneath her. As the world went dark, one last mirage forced its way unbidden into her failing brain. Her heart stopped, her head sagged onto her breast. Months later, they might find her bleached bones baking in the merciless sun. But they would never see the small satisfied smile on her still face, never know her final thought - the memory of trees.
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