Orientation

Towering trees, covered in ancient thick bark, birthed a cathedral around me. Their leaves create a shifting mosaic of jade, emerald, and lime, against the brilliant blue sky. A gentle breeze rustled the canopy, a soft sigh, carrying with it an unfamiliar smell.

Slowly and shakily, I push myself up into a sitting position. My head feels clear, the fog of despair and exhaustion miraculously gone. The crushing weight on my chest, the constant companion of my waking hours, has vanished. I can breathe, and I mean truly breathe. Each inhalation fills my lungs without a tremor of anxiety accompanying it.

I look down at my hands, then at my arms. There is no wound. No fresh, crimson line. Only a thin, silvery scar amongst the numerous other scars and burns. It wasn't an ugly mark of failure, but a quiet reminder of a chapter that has finally ended.

I trace the new scar with my fingers. It is smooth and completely healed, a physical impossibility that is somehow less shocking than the vibrant, living world around me. It was real. The memory was real, but the wound is most certainly now closed.

My blue polyester polo is gone, replaced by a simple tunic of coarse green fabric. It has short frilly sleeves, a style so out of place with my former life that it almost makes me laugh. My black work jeans have been annexed, remodeled into a loose blue pleated skirt with leather sandals adorning the peninsula of my legs. This outfit is a lot more feminine than I am used to, but I feel the need to embrace it like new skin.

“Oh my god where are they?”

I snap my head around in a panic, a cold dread washes over me that eclipses the strangeness of my situation.

My hand frantically pats the tall grass at my side before my fingers graze metal.

My glasses… They are the one thing that has persevered through my metaphysicality. Their gold rim basks in the sunlight, they were a gift from my parents after I landed my first role.

I pick them up, the familiar weight a grounding anchor in this sea of novelty. I slid them onto my face, and the world snapped into crisp, overwhelming focus, each leaf and shadow rendered with startling clarity. A single, hot tear escapes, slides down my cheek and into the corner of my lip.

The moisture awakens a primal feeling in the back of my throat. My mouth is dry and my tongue thick.

“I. Need. Water.”

Getting to my feet is a clumsy affair. My legs feel long-limbed and uncoordinated after an eternity of disuse. I wobble, my hand shooting out to brace myself against the nearest tree trunk. The bark is real and rough under my palm. The forest stretches out before me, unlike any I have ever seen. The trees are massive and their trunks are wider than I could encircle with my arms. Strange corkscrew-shaped flowers with petals of iridescent yellow grew in clusters at their bases, pulsing with a faint internal light.

Everything is familiar enough to be recognizable, yet different enough to make me feel like I am losing my bearings. I took a moment, just breathing, letting the sheer sensory input settle. My body, which had for years felt like a burden to be dragged through shifts and sleepless nights, now felt oddly capable. There was a lightness in my limbs, an absence of ache in my back and lack of tension in my neck.

With no path to guide me, the only way to move is forward. The initial shock of this new reality is slowly being replaced by a feeling of analytical curiosity, an old habit of the actress within me I guess. I am cataloging details as I go, trying to make sense of this new stage I have been thrust upon.

There is a carpet of moss caressing my toes, each step grasps at the springy texture, a far cry from the unforgiving concrete of the city. The air deep in the forest feels distinctly different, from that of the clearing, each inhalation I take clings to the sides of my noses as it enters my airways.

A rosy complexion spreads across my face, I can’t tell if it’s because I haven’t walked like this in years or if it is a byproduct of this new environment. But it’s a welcome addition to my new arsenal of emotions.

Unconsciously I have started to move downhill, only now realising it was actually my best chance of finding a stream or river. The woods were alive with sound, a symphony of chirps, clicks, and rustles that were almost familiar, but with off-key notes and strange rhythms. A birdcall would start like a robin’s and end in a chime-like cascade of notes.

In the distance however I can hear a low reverberation, an unsolicited invasion of the soundscape on my so far peaceful pursuit for water. At first, I mistook it for a distant waterfall, a steady, rumbling bass note. But it wasn't steady, it was irregular.

Thump…. Thump………… Thump…

The once springy moss begins to feel spiky, every nerve ending suddenly on high alert.

A branch somewhere to my left snapped with a crack like a gunshot. Birds previously unseen, exploded from the canopy. The thumping grew louder, closer, accompanied now by a heavy, rasping breath that sounded like rocks grinding together. Raw, primal fear seized me. But I made a promise to myself that this time it would be different.

"You were supposed to honour them by living." I whispered, the words becoming my personal invocation.

The skirt I found quaint moments before was now a cumbersome trap, catching on low branches. My sandals, so comfortable for walking, offered little purchase as I scrambled over roots and thorny bushes.

The forest, briskly becoming a hostile maze. Trees were obstacles, roots were snares, and the beautiful, dappled light was a confusing strobe that hid the uneven ground.

Behind me, the thumping was a relentless drumbeat chasing me down.

“GRRUUNNKKHHAAARRRRRGHHH!” The guttural roar ripped through the air, and it was so full of malice that it felt like a physical blow.

I risk a glance over my shoulder and see nothing but shaking trees and splintered wood where something immense was carving a path through the undergrowth.

I didn’t need to see it to know it was big, and it was fast.

My lungs burn. A stitch stabs into my side, sharp and vicious. My legs, which had felt so light and capable, are now screaming in protest.

This is it, this is the pain of living, the agony of fighting for one more second. It is terrifying and awful and I have never felt more alive.

I push harder, tears of exertion and terror streaming from my eyes, blurring the world into a smear of green and brown.

My foot catches on a gnarled root hidden beneath a patch of leaves. My ankle twists with a sickening pop, and my momentum carries me forward, airborne for a single, weightless second before I crash down a short, steep embankment.

I tumble head over heels, the world a chaotic whirl of dirt, leaves, and pain. I come to a jarring stop with my shoulder slamming against something hard and my face half-submerged in cold, running water.