The insult stung. Not because it was true or particularly harmful, but because it was so unexpected. And Unjust.
She rubs her arms, the prick of water rising to her nose. A fire of thoughts swirl through her mind, as she rode its angry smoke up and down. She desperately wants to run but was prevented from doing so by her obligation to continue. The contract was rock solid.
They could keep her body and brain but couldn’t keep her thoughts and dreams.
Breath. Go back.
She closes her eyes and follows the rhythm of her breath behind her eyelids like a metronome. And she slips back, backwards into time, to the garden.
Sunlight. It was always sunny there. She felt the pressure of the heat now against her bare arms, rays bathing her in bright sweeping strokes. She lifts her face towards the source of her pleasure, smiling as broadly as the beams that graced her likeness.
Earth. The musky, sweet, incense of fruitful loom. Her bare feet sinking gently into its velvety richness. She twirls her toes in tiny concentric circles, feeling the silkiness of the dirt as it sifts through.
Green. It was vibrant, sharp, and overpowering. With undertones of sweet. Variegated shades billowing across the acre.
These were the first to appear as she glides in. Her heart rate drops; her breathing settles. Her muscles melting within her skin.
She trails her fingers along the leaves and tendrils of the fertile garden, as she strolls forward toward the small hut at the far edge. Beans heavy with crisp pods, ready for picking. Tomatoes vines bending in protest against cages keeping them upright, their fruit bright orange and red and yellow, skins bursting with juicy promise.
She plucked a small cucumber from its furry vine, twisting slightly to encourage its release. The snap of its thin skin against her teeth sends shivers along her cheeks.
A soft tussle in the leaves. A tiny creature crosses her path, pink velvet paws barely disturbing the topsoil, no prints left behind. Slick dark grey fur, and it is gone.
She lifts her eyes and shields them from the glare of the late day sun.
Late day. Why did she choose late day?
She hears a whistle. Low and long. From her left? Her neck torques toward the intermittent sound, a tune perhaps. She is now staring straight into the sun. Its radiated glow silhouettes an image. A short wide body, shoulders broad, waist broad, legs like tree trunks. It is moving toward her, gate akilter. She is happy. She knows she is happy. She smiles.
Her grandfather emerges from the glare, like a warrior or a god. He raises his arms, bidding for her embrace, as his stride lengthens and he descends quickly toward where she stands, enthralled by his sudden return. She feels his warmth and the grip of his hug, as the shop alarm wrenches her back. Back to her workspace. To her cage. To reality.