Everything about me is pain. Severe pain. Maybe I’ve been stabbed.
But why on earth would I have been stabbed? That just doesn’t make sense. Dumb Raisa.
Other guess––I’ve been cut open and stitched together again. Not like that’s realistic at all, but that’s just what I imagine that would feel like.
Okay, seriously, what is going on?
I force my heavy eyelids open. The world is a blur, a very white blur. Lots and lots of white. Snow? What is that beeping?
“Oh my word, Raisa, you’re okay. I can’t believe it.”
I know that voice. I know that face––Peter! My neighbor!
“Oh, Raisa!” That’s Mom, running toward me, throwing her arms around me. Pain jolts through my arms, and I moan. What is this weird clothing I’m wearing? Why does it seem like it’s gaping at the back?
“You’re alive!” Mom cries.
Dad swiftly joins her, forming a group hug. Wait. Are those IVs in my arms? Am I in a hospital?
Images flit through my brain––snow, the silken rose, touching the thorn, a forest of red stalks all around me. Goodness gracious. Did that all happen? And why can’t I remember how it ended?Read More »