Ophelia's Daisies

The world of dream is an all consuming world with overwhelming powers, it is a world of dreams created by the subconscious where the mind twists thoughts of the deepest and darkest parts of the mind into anything it likes.

Underneath sleepy eyelids and long black lashes, underneath pale green eyes that effervesce in the sun, there lies a foreign world in the darkest parts of a girl's mind who is much past her present age.

She is lost in the depths of the subconscious dreaming that she is laying in a field of black daisies with red centers; the sky burns a vibrant red. The girl is driven by mysterious forces to pick the daisy’s petals one by one like a little girl dreaming of her prince charming.
…He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not…
But even women continue to admire flowers. Black petals are scattered all around her, endless petals, endless love, endless hopes that lead to nothing. Her fingers are tingling and are tired from picking petal after petal in search of an answer. The girl's delicate fingers reek of flowers and are smeared with red pollen from the daisy’s centers; love tales that end in death. Love blinds, death blinds, but death is an eternal blindness that replaces living. The earth is warm in her inescapable world and off in the distance she sees the horizon burn. Smoke curls into the red sky casting an eerie glow over her dream world of onyx daisies.

The girl’s eyes grow heavy as she smoothes a pillow of black petals to rest her head and stares into the scarlet sky. Shooting stars dance across it and every star is another chance to escape, but escape means absolutely nothing to her when the sky seems so far away. The fire dancing in the distance seems to be growing hotter as its flames burn across the horizon, they are beautiful but will destroy anything they touch. For now the fire burns at a distance that is safe to observe its beauty without the painful blisters that flames will tattoo upon your skin.

Far in the distance a door opens in the horizon. A dark figure stares blankly at the girl, her long hair is spread across the ground and she is covered in soft black petals. In a half daze she glides to her feet and begins to run an endless journey towards the shadow in the door. Despairing daisies scatter with her every footstep and red pollen floats around her feet, but every step she takes the door seems to get farther and farther away; it seems as if she will run forever. Her feet feel heavy but move as if weightless until they collapse beneath her at the foot of a long winding staircase, but before she can begin to climb the staircase the man disappears and the door slams shut. The girl climbs the narrow stairs with unpassioned fury leading to a silver door that shimmers Hughes of pink eerily under the effervescent sky. She finds herself at the foot of the door before she even realizes it and turns the handle but the door is locked. After searching every crevice for a key her pocket grows heavy; she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small silver key too heavy for its size. The metal feels cold and raw in her hand, but as she turns the key in the lock it crumbles leaving dried petals and red pollen in it’s place. The strong smell of flowers filters through from underneath the door as her eyes become heavy and dark; sleep would be divine.

Tossing and turning she awakes in a bed of black petals, it must have been a dream. But if that was a dream, where is she now? She can feel the fire’s dangerous warmth on her cheeks as the flames dance around the field, threateningly closer with every breeze.
…He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me never...
A man far off in the distance stands beneath a tall weeping willow with silver leaves and branches that sway in the arid breeze. The man calls out her name; he is handsome but in a mysterious way. “Ophelia.” She has never heard anyone call her this before but she knows he is speaking to her, there isn’t anybody else around. Hypnotized by his voice and his mysterious power, Ophelia wanders slowly towards the weeping willow in a mystical trance, maybe he will love her. To live a life without love is one of her greatest fears.

The wind gently blows the branches of the weeping willow as the fire closes in on all sides of the black field, a blanket of reddish smoke swirls in the sky. The stars that dance across it are now blurry and faded. She finally reaches the man underneath the willow. A cool breeze sways through the weeping willow’s branches in spite of the blazing fire. The man holds Ophelia’s hands in his own and gently kisses her fingers. He then turns them over and kisses her palms; she is entranced in his presence, she is in love. The man then shows her a small crystal bottle that he places in her palm, it contains a dark liquid that seems to effervesce and swirl.
“Drink this and you will live forever.”
His voice is deep but comforting and entwines her thoughts.

The crystal feels cool and the liquid swirls inside the bottle even though it is completely still. She wants to live forever so she carefully twists the crystal lid dropping it to the ground. Ophelia moves the tiny bottle to her lips; the dark liquid smells of daisies, wild flowers, and death. The fire begins to close in on Ophelia and the dark man. The man’s black eyes stare knowingly into her soft green ones. “You want to live forever don’t you?” His voice is still melodic but sounds anxious. A butterfly flutters in the distance behind the willow it is beautiful although fragile in this world that will soon be lost in flame.

Ophelia, overwhelmed with the desire to run and inability to do so would like to tell the man that she loves him as the flames enclose them, but her tongue is frozen and her lips won’t form the words. “I don’t want to die.” She thinks to herself.
“Drink and you will live forever!” The man's voice is no longer melodic it now seems desperate, almost as if he can read her thoughts. Flames dance in his eyes, Ophelia’s cheeks are now red and burn from the heat. “I don’t want to die.” She manages to lip to the man. “Drink” This time his voice is deep and calming, he seems to know that now she will indeed drink.

Ophelia trusts the man so she quickly tips the bottle into her mouth, the liquid tastes sweet and feels smooth in her throat and warm in her stomach, she feels blissful but numb. In the distance the butterfly disintegrates in the flames breath. The bottle slides between Ophelia’s fingers, she can no longer see the flames as darkness closes in on her eyes like a curtain signaling the end of a play. Her whole body seems to tingle and feels weightless as she collapses in the black daisies beneath the willow tree. The man disappears leaving her to burn under the smoky sky. Flames now close in from all sides of the field and smoke swirls amongst blurry stars. The girl lays completely alone, numb, and pale under the willow amongst black daisies in a blissful but eternal sleep.

Morning light reaches the eyes of the sleeping girl, warming her cold face. There is a soft knock on the door as a woman with peppered black hair enters her room. The comforting smell of fresh coffee and sweet pancakes filters through her open door, it reaches the girls nostrils, caressing her senses, but she is numb. The girls mother gently tries to wake her sleeping daughter, but there is only a cold body.

Warm tears fall softly on the girls face as her mother cries for her lost child in disbelief; numb to the truth, but not blind. Her mother gently kisses her daughter’s cool forehead and gently touches her soft lips which open slightly from her mothers touch. Her mothers heart skips a beat, maybe she is still breathing, maybe a mothers tears can bring her child back to life.

“You always said you would live forever.” Her mother whispers between sobs. Again her mother softly touches her daughters lips, she can see something inside of her mouth. The scent of coffee and pancakes is overwhelmed with a very strong scent of wild flowers. Her mother gently parts her daughter’s lips and a small black daisy falls onto the girl’s pillow from her mouth, the flower that kills.
…He loves me. He loves me not…
The girl’s mother picks up the fragile flower but even her mother’s delicate touch causes the daisy to immediately disintegrate into a thousand pieces.
Nothing is permanent. Nobody can live forever.