Her psyche was tinted colorfully with autumn as she slept. She breathed soft rainbows and murder, and winced as the end of the light hit her face. I have taken my sweet time remembering, but I forget often. She is less fortunate, and she inhales the sins and worries of the sky and exhales the ashes of people long dead, carrying the metaphysical weight on her shoulders with a helpless smile. Those iron tears will have stitched themselves to her face soon, and the rainbows will have hung themselves, but unlike me never will she ever forget.
The oxygen has been jerked from my brain, and I remember nothing of the life I once had. Below the sea, settled next to violent sex and pollution the fish riot and murder, unencumbered and ruthless in their hatred. Was this what Gaia had wished for, for at the simple lift of a finger she could stop it, she could kill us all in one blinding swoop.
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