Free Writing Prompt: The Fool
Free writing as a form of self-care to release the mind from stress. One prompt. Some time carved out. No edits for coherency. Just write. This is me trying to be brave about it and hitting publish instead of keeping the words to myself.
She knew she was in a dream. The same way she knew that the dream held a power that wouldn’t stay contained within the unbounds of unconsciousness. She raised her left hand, her right on her heart and felt the wind gather around her fingers, dance and caress, with a firm gentle touch that suddenly turn gale force. She yanked her hand back to her body, afraid.
The sun rose over the mountains in the distance, and illogically she could feel its heat as if it were southern summer afternoon sun right above her. It warmed her, gradually removing the chill from the fear of the sudden wind and leaving her warm, safe. She closed her eyes, let its warmth get down to her bones, deep in her gut, down to her toes, the top of her head, she was warm. Then she was hot, and before long she was burning inside. She couldn’t take a moment to breathe the heat engulfed her so completely. It was as if the sun had come forward to embrace her, no respecting of the fact that she was just skin and bones, nothing against the majesty of its flame. With a half shout half gasp she breathed out and forced her eyes open and it was as if the sun raced back to just above the mountains- steady and distantly warm. She could still recall the suffocating heat, and that fear again, with that exhilaration again.
She looked over at the landscape. She wasn’t alone anymore. Various animals had approached her position. A peacock lounged in the grass, a cat twined about her legs, a fox watched her in the distance, an owl in a tree not too far in front of her, the various fish suddenly visible in the river in front of her. All came to witness. She shivered.
She looked down at her toes- and where on earth were her shoes? Earth. She spread her toes, digging into the earth beneath them. The grass tickling her, the more she dug the more rooted she felt. She widened her stance, almost tripped by the cat incessantly moving in between her legs. Bouncing slightly, tipping on her toes and back on her heels, and on her toes then heels, forth and back, forth and back, down into the warm damp earth she sank. She was sinking. That fear again. She opened her eyes, not even realizing when she’d closed them. She wasn’t sinking, the earth was still beneath her, the grass, the dirt, the worm disturbed by her rooting toes. She smiled. There was no reason for fear, this was home. She’d always been home here, barefoot in the dirt, connected to-. She could never complete that sentence. There, that exhilaration again.
The water was easy. She needed to clean off her feet, clear off the sweat from the burning, soothe her wind-whipped skin in moisture. She stepped forward and into the water. The water wasn’t easy, and no matter how deep she went, it stayed at ankle level. She could see the fish, gold and blue and green and black scales reflecting light under the water. They were deep, but no matter where she went, riverbed came up to meet her. Frustrated she sank down and sat in the water. Sparing a thought to hope that whatever fish had been in that spot had swam away at the displacement, she stretched her legs out in front of her. The water barely covered them. There was no fear. She didn’t understand. Sighing, frustration building, she lay back, body fully stretched out. The water reached her ears, barely. As it flowed it would float up to cover them and float down to rush past her. Each time her ears were fully covered she imagined she could hear whispers, wet secrets swirling around her, about her. No fear. No exhilaration.
She would beat the water at its game. She turned herself over, face down in the riverbed. She opened her eyes and her mouth to tell it so and drowned.