She stared up and around and everywhere. The sky was a dark, misty gray. She could watch it forever and see nothing and everything in its swirling depth.
How had she gotten here? And where was here?
She had been home. Home.
Home, with a large wooden table meant for many. Home, smelling of chocolate and warm bread and tomatoes bubbling away. Home, with rainboots stacked in a line, the shiny rubber caked with mud and flecks of damp leaves. Home, with its freezing floors in the morning and baking hot rooms in the afternoon.
That home. Her home.
When had it gone wrong? When had everything broken and shattered? She could remember the cracks beneath the carpet from every stomp of a foot, the fissures in the wall spreading from every scream.
And then, just like that, she had been left alone, shivering in a tree. She was thirsty and tired and cold, but there was little to do about that. Everything had frozen over, leaving her huddled on the ice-bit bark of this stout little tree.
The thought of warm heaters hissing cheerfully couldn’t melt the cold that surrounded her. She coughed weakly, gazing at the iced-over puddles that nearly covered the forest floor. It was a strange place. The trees were evenly spaced apart and perfect for climbing. The huge puddles left only slivers of packed dirt between them. They were all frozen over in stark-white, reflective ice.
She couldn’t imagine the ice was that thick. Surely there was water below the frozen layer.
She closed her eyes, gripping the gnarled tree limb she was curled up on. How had she gotten here, how, how? Home, and then this tree. She couldn’t remember clinging to the rough bark as she scaled this tree, couldn’t remember walking across this endless maze of trees and puddles. She couldn’t even remember leaving home.
But she was here, and she had to stay alive.
She blinked a few times, trying to fight the dizzying darkness in the corners of her vision. Her mind felt fuzzy, and it was almost impossible to focus. The idea of moving seemed insane, but she forced her limbs into a position where she could descend the stout trunk to reach the puddles.
She wasn’t sure how long it took for her to grip her arms around the trunk and start her downward climb. It could have been seconds, but years seemed a closer measurement. Her feet hit the hard ground all at once, and she dropped to her knees, gasping and shaking. There was a ring of pine-needled ground surrounding her tree, and infinite puddles and trees beyond that.
She lifted her hands, which were shaking violently. Tears pricked at her eyes, but moving felt good. It felt right.
She tried to take a deep breath in but ended up coughing, her hands clutching her stomach. She was so thirsty. How had she ever not been thirsty? What had water tasted like? Still on her knees, she gazed shakily at the nearest puddle.
She gripped her tree again and pulled herself into a standing position. She couldn’t stand without the support of the tree, but she raised her foot above the ice.
Break it, break it, break it.
She just needed to break it.
Breathing was too hard. She forced her eyes to stay open as she lowered her foot with all the strength she could muster.
And the ice broke. Easily.
It shattered like the thinnest glass.
And she looked, in desperate need of water, of something.
But all there was was darkness.
Emptiness.
Nothing but the night sky.
