Prologue.

The girl carefully picked her way through the trees. All was silent except for the noise of the snow melting; a muffled ‘thump’ as a clump fell from a branch and hit the ground below, the dripping of water as it joined a small pond from the twigs above, and the occasional creaking of branches as they adjusted to the shifting weight. Her feet were bare and she was wearing a sleeveless, pale pink dress that came to just below her knees, and if she was cold, she did not show it. She was extremely slender; fragile-looking, and delicate in her movements. Her dirty blonde hair was tied loosely in a bun, and as she turned her face upwards towards the sky, she showed no expression.
Then, the wind began to blow: gently at first, dancing around her body, whispering words that she couldn’t quite catch. Her head turned swiftly from side to side, trying to understand the warning that the air was bringing her. As it blew faster, she felt the cold whip across her face and through her hair, curling around her, whistling fiercely, until it was a high-pitched screeching. The branches groaned in protest, and the sky darkened. The wind roared in her ears.
Suddenly, it stopped. The sky brightened once again and the trees became silent. As the wind left the woods, winding between the trees, she caught two words: they’re coming.

I feel like hard
plastic
soft
skin
sweet like
cherry drops
cold like
winter
and bitter like
the harsh wind
that blows on 
the days the snow falls. 

Today.

Today I feel sad.

In fact, I feel really sad.
That hopeless kind of sad, 
where everything feels awful,
where your whole body feels heavy,
where your mind is clogged with darkness.
The kind where you hide under your sheets,
with the lights off and the curtains drawn,
and wish that the world would disappear,
or better still,
that you would disappear. 

She drew a breath of the cold, fresh air, and then exhaled. Condensation left her lips like visible life, dancing in the air, and then leaving her, alone, to take her next lungful. Her tired eyes looked upward, searching for sunshine in the bleak, grey sky. A sigh of disappointment left her as she found none. Walking down the street she caught sight of her reflection in a shop window. She turned angrily away from it, muttering to herself, as if the window was personally forcing her to confront her own mirror image. She strode back to her apartment; full of purpose but lost in thought. 
Back in her room she sunk into her chair wearily, the darkness creeping in; that beautiful, bittersweet darkness that she readily welcomed. She clung to her mind for one last second,
and then let go. 

I feel.

I feel.
I feel the biting wind on my skin,
and the burn in my legs,
and the strain in my back.
I feel my tired eyes,
and my emptiness.
I feel the darkness,
and the grab of a familiar force.
I feel the suffering,
and then,
all at once,
I feel nothing.