but still the world falls { viola/dimmer }

One foot after another. Pacing down a path and through the trees, swallows drift through the air in front of me, yet the constant pitter-patter of rain makes my mind spin with frustration. Unrelenting heat banished away by the oncoming autumn: leaves of a golden brown and trees losing their clothes in the wind.

And although the flaws with such a season seem to be endless, there is still something about this time of the year that makes it my favourite. It's a time that holds memories of a happier time. A time when frowns were only dramatic and smiles were static: made frozen by the flight of the bitter autumnal wind.

I've walked these paths only once before. My hands clinging tightly to a stick as a line drew from it's end - "it's magic" - I'd say as patterns emerged from the snow. My other hand cupped into my mother's: she wore no gloves but remained warm as the snow reigned over us like royalty. Childish rhymes and an imagination that I once swore would never change--

--except it did.

Walking these ways now, I'm greeted by nothing more than what reality deals me. Leaves beyond leaves, tree beyond tree, raindrop after raindrop. The repetitive nature of this walk makes me want to turn back around, but I know I'd only have to endure another thousand leaves and another hundred scrawny trees. 

But with each step, different sounds join the rain. It's getting heavier with every breath I take, and with the sad buzzing of a bee joining nature's orchestra of sounds in my ear: I can't help but feel peaceful with the rain coming down. Grasshoppers and the murmurs of a distant bird accompany the piece and it sends tingles down my neck and up my spine.

I remember why autumn is my favourite now.

My eyes look down to my feet. They move through the air with ease, cutting it, slicing it in half to make way for my presence. My boots covered in droplets of rainwater wade through puddles like there's no tomorrow and while my laces drag through the droplets of ocean, there's nothing quite like the feeling of wet shoelaces whipping up against your ankles.

There's something that catches my attention further ahead - pale and weathered. Porcelain touched by monsters, exhaling a breath of blight. I stop in my tracks, turning to see if I'm being followed and this is all some sick sort of game to have me murdered or killed or something worse--

--but there's no one. Me, myself and a dead body on the floor. My eyes swell and even though every inch of me wants to look away, there's something inside me which just can't. I just can't.

It reminds me of Pixie.

My toes scrunch and the rain stops. I edge closer, peering through a wall of fern to see what I'm sure I saw. My suspicions are confirmed, but my skin crawls. Worms under my skin, my fingers move to scratch them back into place.

I blink and blink again, because I saw it move. A chest rising and falling to the symphony of nature, except joined by the monotone drumming of a heartbeat. It's alive, it's breathing.

It's not dead.

It's alive, and suddenly it doesn't remind me of Pixie any more. In fact, I'm now reminded of all the difference between the being on the dirt and my sister. They fly through my mind like moths attracted to a light, a light which the wispy fingers inside my skull can't reach to turn off. And so, I'm haunted by moths tattooed with the differences with no way out.

Ice freezes my eyes into place but fire prevails in my throat.

"Hello?"