• Planet Earth may sometimes reflect the true nature of the people that inhabit it. At least, this was the most plausible of theories. It may mirror their destruction, or their sorrow, or their spite, and it will not show mercy to those it desires to oust of its land. And at this moment, I am witnessing its repressed frustration. Standing upon this promontory, I gaze at the sky, the sky in which ominous clouds began to amass, threatening to spill misery and vengeance. The ocean beneath me began to swell, the waves angrily smashing against the cliff’s side, eroding it further. The distant clouds were quickly darkening, accumulating into a gray that easily coincided with the environment around me. Everything was gray: the overcast skies, the packed dirt on which I stood on, the saltwater that lapped tempestuously at the rock face, shrouded in a heavy sea fret. The wind whipped around viciously, yet I could not hear its distressed howl. As a matter of fact, I could not hear any of the phenomena transpiring around me. Everything was quiet, dead almost. The world’s noise cease to exist. There was a shift in the air around me that had caused me to cringe, goosebumps littering my forearms. The oceanic smell had changed into a redolence of a downpour. I turned, hugging my arms closer to my body, and prepared to walk away from the Earth’s commotion.
    My vision was focused on the ground by which my feet took their steps, but I strangely felt compelled to raise my view towards the land I had yet to see. I took one last hesitant step before I stopped in my tracks entirely. Alone in the midst of the achromatic gloom, remained a solitary, yellow daylily. It was being thrown around by the gale of wind, barely staying rooted to the soil of the earth. Much like the whirlwind of the Earth’s turmoil, the floret’s stem snapped and was whisked into the tumultuous current of air. I watched as it was carried higher, and followed as it was swept further away. The wind had become more frantic, and so I began to run after it. The only element of color in this diatonic place had soon began to blur. I slowed to a stop as the air transitioned from the cold, humid fog to a cool, refreshing zephyr and the colorless atmosphere sprouted into color. What had once been a single flower being thrown into the unsettled wind was now a myriad of petals in a breath of air. A sweet aroma fills my nose and the sound of bells and frivolous laughter fills my ears. I looked around, delirious, for the melody, but I saw, instead, an expanse of grass and picturesque meadow flowers. The flowers created an assortment of colors, what with its purple thistles, blue cornflowers, red poppies, and yellow daylilies. The laughter became more pronounced, and I could tell that it was a young girl’s laughter. I turned on my heel, towards the approaching sound. I was correct in my assumption, as a young girl, no more than the age of seven, scurried down a gentle slope. She bounded towards me, with no real sign of stopping. I tried to speak, to tell her to stop, but I could not find my voice. Even my body refused to cooperate as she sprinted closer and closer, nearing my frozen figure. My blood ran cold and time seemed to slow. The laughter began to drag, and the bells had turned into something of a discordant clash. The little girl’s figure became less of a clear shape, and seemed to have a hazy silhouette. I could feel my heartbeat steadily becoming faster and faster, and I could hardly breathe, waiting for the abrupt stop of the child as she slammed into my body. But that never happened. Time slowly began to regain its regular pace and all sound reverted back to what it had been as the little girl slipped right through me, as if I was nothing. It was almost as if I was a mere apparition, a figment of one’s imagination.
    Hysterically, I whipped around to overlook the girl, hoping to make sense of what had just happened. I watched the young girl reunite with her parents, whom were keeping a vigil eye on her. They sat on the plush, green blades of grass, basking in the sunlight, laughing at something I had failed to see. I slid onto the ground in anguish, my throat tightening and my eyes stinging with the familiar feeling of shedding tears. I recognized this little girl, I recognized her parents. They were family. They were my family. And that little girl was me. Another harsh wind blew, and I was thrown into disarray by the world beginning to spin.
    The cerulean blue sky had darkened, blending into an ugly brown and the grass began to morph into a hard, wooden floor. I clutched my head in my hands and squeezed my eyes closed. The bells quieted down, eventually dying out, and was replaced by the sound of a woman weeping. Inquisitively, I reopened my eyes. My steps were hesitant as I looked at myself as a child, taking my hands off of my head. I strained to remember what had happened, though it all came back vague. I did have an indefinite premonition, however, that suggested preeminent change. Crouching beside the younger girl, I searched her face, and saw that she was aghast and in tears. I then directed my attention towards the element of her concern, my eyes widening in cognition. Mom, lying helpless on the floor, was covered in bruises, while dad stood in close proximity, devoid of any sympathy. He raised his hand to strike her again, his lips curled in malicious pleasure. Mom cowered and shrunk away, completely vulnerable from her last assault. I pried my eyes away from the scene and glanced down at the young girl once more, only to see she had become more skittish, her fear and anxiety practically seeping from her body. I felt a painful tug at my heart, knowing exactly how she felt. I had forgotten, after so many years, how volatile and cruel a man my father was. It seemed he only lived to instill fear in those around him. His hand came down, and the young girl beside me cried out. She moved with an urgency that could only be described as desperate, and stood as a means of protection in front of her incapacitated mother. As the blow was struck, I, too, felt an excruciating pain reverberate through my skull. The small girl crumbled to the ground, screaming in agony. Mom sat in choked desolation, gingerly touching her daughter’s head, unsure of what to do, how to protect them both. Dad looked upon them both with nothing but pure hatred and disdain. The edges of my vision began to darken, eyes starting to flutter shut. The small girl's screams were that of my own, and I couldn't help but bring a hand to my mouth. Dad, with a click of his tongue, dragged the small, maimed girl off of her mother and to the side, letting her wither in pain, abandoned. Judging by the way he brushed her off, her detriment was no longer of any concern to him.
    Both her cries and my pain subsided, being replaced by a nauseating spiral and the clamor of the ocean’s belligerence. Again I stood on the edge of a cliff, witnessing the brute force of a subjugated scapegoat, merely longing for a taste of what it was like to be feared, a victim tired of having to comply with the Earth’s unearthly demands. I scouted the ashen land, anticipating the find of another flower, but the dirt was barren yet again. The ocean beneath me began to swell, the waves angrily smashing against the cliff’s side, eroding it further. I shouldn’t keep it waiting.