It was a dream I once had. Or a dream I thought I had. But, I added to it. The dream only consisted of me in a field of poppies.


Death in a Field of Poppies

"Come closer, my dear, and listen to my song."

As I drifted past the towering pines and hummed a tune of the finest composer, the voice which spilled from foreign lips snagged my attention in a creeping grip. I was caught in a moment of surprise and fear, for no one ever wandered these lands save me and my shadow. With sharp hesitation, I pivoted round on two swaying heels to scan the once silent landscape. Disappointment slapped my face in all directions, for there stood nothing of human intelligence in the area of my vision; just a voice, invisible to the eyes of even the most imaginative child. I frowned in the face of my discovery, but pushed it aside after a moment of wishful thinking.

Splashing through a narrow creek of watercolor leaves and hidden insects, I danced my way to a small field of poppies. It smelled of honeysuckle and jasmine, but I spotted neither of the two plants on that sunny day. A smile, slight, yet admirable, molded my lips with loving hands, and my eyes teared up as the sight of poppies brought melancholy memories to my mind. A drowning boy. Two dogs dead on the pavement. A plane crash in a beautiful field of poppies...

The voice sang again, softly echoing through the blossoms and moist blades of grass. I closed my eyes to stare at the faint mental photograph of the burning plane amongst the mesmerizing poppies; and it hit me.

"I'm a dead man."




Words by Kerra Dolarhyde
Read 946 times
Written on 2006-06-08 at 08:04

Tags Death  Poppies  Sorrow 

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text