Disillusioned
The sharp scent of grass cut through the air. The delicate petals of daisies peered through the swathe of green, the gentle breeze from distant windmills encompassing me. I could see their sails, languidly spinning round and round and round, neverending in their work. It was an ideal picture; one that could be framed and hung on walls, unmoving yet alive.
But still, a sense of wrongness. Brief and fleeting, yet lingering and growing, all at the same time.
Nevertheless, it was easier to live in this land. To accept reality as it was and move on.
So I did.
Yet the seasons never changed, always stuck in an endless loop of monotony, though time still passed. Blissful as it was, the cracks in my perception only widened as my mind grew.
I could not ignore it any longer. Though the desire to lie still, sluggish and complacent, was compelling, almost overwhelming, I simply could not ignore it. I finally opened my eyes.
And I saw it.
Everything. … Entangling vines strangle me. The sickening, artificial scent of plastic lookalikes plagues the air. Daisies collapse, their agonised bodies straining from the forced flowering. They wilt, relinquishing life, solemnly decorating the walls. Those distant giants stand, nothing more than cardboard cutouts, their sails flimsy and pathetic.
At last, I understand.
Perhaps that gentle, ideal land had once been real. It doesn’ t matter anymore. It is gone and has been for millennia. No more than a figment of imagination. These candied sights are a mere imitation of that mild honey, scrabbling to hold onto the retreating past – but it is futile to cling to forlorn relics.
Even so, amidst this ersatz world, lies a possibility. The possibility that maybe, just maybe, time will give back what it took, and memories of bygone days will come to life once more.
Aoife Lau 17