No beans.

By
Life Out Here

Dashing through a field of itchy little beans, she watched the sky stir angry beams of light. Beans fell back and a strip of woods towered over, momentarily blocking out the vibrant view above. She continued to run, up into the tree. The creaky steps, the platform, the branch, the nail; she flew up them and landed on a sturdy little board. The sky appeared again, only a few thin branches separating her from it. It was aglow, but there was no light. The atmosphere was alive and pink, but no shiny beams escaped the truculent cloud cover. The radio in the tree, water proofed by ages of dirt, screamed static as she flipped it on, followed by the words “Meteorologists say were say we..”

It cut out and was replaced by the roar of thunder. Something told her it had come from above the clouds. She let her feet dangle in the air as chills ran up her spine. The ant on the tree beside her glowed red on a dying background. It drew her attention away as if relevant, distracting her from the solemnity until the radio shed its knowledge again. “and now were looking for-“

Wind winded through the trees and whipped her hair around. It sounded so vicious, she suppressed the urge to fly away. The sky got darker in an instant, the pink sun turned unnaturally violet. The malevolence made her burning hands tremble and the voice on the radio surprised her once again. “…probably is life out there.” The radio clicked off with no signal to befriend. The clouds moved away only to reveal a stronger absence of light.





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