Grass. Green, simple. She walked across it, the same field as everyone else.

But it wasn’t.

Beneath her feet, unseen to others, the grass turns to blades, lacerating her feet,
forcing her to wince and bite her lip in fear of crying out and being noticed by them.
Surreptitiously, she glances around at the faces walking beside her, searching anxiously
for any hint of pain.

None.

She whirls around, frozen, scared. The grass behind her is just that: grass. No hint of the
blood and tears she knew she shed. She slowly turns around once more, looking at the
ground before her: just grass. No blades.

Deep breath.

Tentative step; searing pain.

She walks slowly, lightly, eyes closed, hoping to one day be too numb to feel the blades
that pierce her feet.