I smell something sweet, a beacon as aroma.
I feel heat, a radiation from the giants, the vibration of their murmurs oscillates my body.
I hear waves, some deeper, some pitched higher, starting and stopping in melody. Laced with meaning. “I think you over cooked, darling.” “I always do now that the kids are grown.”
I see orange, rising and falling against the walls of light brown. Emitting the sweet scent I trail, sitting beside it.
Sweet. Warmth. Waves. Orange.
A beacon. I follow.
Dipping my toes into the soft, cold, delicious orange.
I only mean to drink from it, but my toes are stuck. I try to pull them back, a splash of delicious brushes my face. The orange rises, surrounding me as the world tilts up. Then I’m swept away, swirling into the middle of the orange as the world jolts back, flat as a horizon.
I want to fly. To jump. To escape. But the orange is heavy, an oppression against every attempted twitch of my body. I gasp for air, but my breath becomes liquid.
Before the world goes black, I hear muffled sounds of waves, harsh and sharp like a storm, “Damn gnats!’