She kicked the wet leaves that lined the side of the road. Every car that drove by sprayed water on her ankles but she kept trudging on through the morning mist. She didn’t look away from the pavement in front of her, hands tucked tightly in her jean pockets and arms close to her sides. Goose bumps speckled her arms where her T-shirt did not cover. Damp hair stuck to her face and back as though she had run through sprinklers. She didn’t try to keep it out of her face or pull it to one side. It really didn’t bother her much.
The cold morning breeze didn’t stifle her befuddled thoughts. Her mind wasn’t addled with the frustration of cars passing by, not giving her a second glance. It wasn’t bothered that she had to walk ten miles to get back home, cold and wet. Neither was she concerned that she hadn’t eaten in the last twenty-four hours. What perplexed her most was the small locket in her jean pocket she kept clutched in a fist. She’d awoken not long ago in the woods after an unusual dream with the locket, she’d never before seen, laid atop a mossy log beside her with no memory of how she had gotten there.
Inspired by Sunday Photo Fiction