I feel as if I were walking through a world that is passing out of being. A dying world, but sill slightly, barely alive. A world burned down, brown and dry, no water. I walk barefoot through this barren land. A white dress, trailing behind me, walking into the wind. Long, brown, wavy hair blowing behind me. It is silent and it is so empty. I am lost, wandering, searching for something, but I don't know what it is and I can never find it. No one is around to help me. As I walk, tears stream down my face.
Suddenly, dark black clouds cover everything, like a violent storm coming over. Only it never rains. It just keeps lightning and thundering. The wind becomes so strong, I get knocked off my feet. I keep stumbling on, ripping my hem. My hands are all bloody. They burn. My white dress is stained in brown and I have to rip part of it into strips to wrap around my hands to stop them from bleeding. It hurts everywhere. I wonder if this is what Hell is like, so cold, lonely, painful, angry, destroying my beautiful white dress, never quenching my thirst, continually wandering.
Flashes of lightning, I keep falling violently. I stretch out my arms to try to break my fall, but there are so many black, sharp, pointed rocks, they catch the light in the storm, and I feel them slice the palms of my hands. Blood comes quickly to my wounds and I clench my fists around the open cuts and the burning sensation cools slightly. Something drives me to get up again and carry on. I'm pulled by some imaginary force. Pulled to my feet, for I do not have the strength to carry on. It feels as soon as I rise and resume my eternal stumblings, pressing on, I fall again, re-opening my wounds, leaving fresh gashes as well. My eyes sting with tears, my sight is now so blurry, so distorted, I still keep lurching forward and staggering on, and inevitably fall again. Hands burning, feet numb from walking, face lashed by wind. My cheeks are torn and scratched by tiny pebbles turned into weapons. The wind hurls them at me. There are too many to dodge, too much wind. I can't brush the sand out of my eyes, my lips, my cheeks, because my hands are bandaged and bloody. Everything stings- my face- especially when my tears roll slowly down from the corner of my eys and roll down and spread through the scratches on my cheeks. My eyes sting, trying to keep back the tears. Teeth clenched tightly to hold back a cry, a scream for mercy and help. My hands sting. Never time for the wounds to heal, broken open again and again.