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The sun was shining through the thick canopy of the many trees. The air was light, fresh, and peaceful.

It was a beautiful day.

The narrator of this story was lying in bed. The bed was old, and creaky. It was unsteady. She knew that many other people besides herself had slept here. She knew that many others often suffered from migraines and backaches. But she was young and in good condition, and she was having her best sleep of the week. The sweet birds chirping outside the window and the warm summer breeze tickling her long brown hair contrasted with the creaking of the bed. The light filtering through the window was warm, comfortable, and soothing. She felt safe lying there, with her head resting on the shabby looking pillow and the withering flowers in a cast iron flower bower in the corner of the room.

The girl, who was nineteen, was resting on her side, looking out the window at the flowers in the bower. She was not high on any particular drug, and was not an addict. The pain in her leg, she knew, was an aftereffect from a car accident a few years back.

She was there, which was unusual for her, because she usually preferred to read, do school work, or just snuggle. However, today, she felt that she needed to get outside and away. It seemed to be the right thing to do. It made little difference whether it was the afternoon or evening. She wanted to be outside. She just didn't know why. She was having difficulty understanding some of the things that were happening to her. Her life was fairly ordinary and she supposed that she wasn't thinking very much about being odd or different. She was acting her age, she supposed that she was "normaly" behaving. If she was, she thought, all the more reason to keep quiet and just sleep.

She wasn't sure how she'd gotten there. She was only a few feet from where her bed had been. She looked around. Everything seemed the same. It was as if she'd just crawled into bed. But then, she thought, looking around, how did she get all the way over to the storage space?

It seemed clear that she was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, looking around the room, but she was resting while she thought. The old bed creaked. She hated that sound. She always tensed when she heard it creak.

The room seemed as if it were unbelievably large. She thought she'd been there for just a few minutes. She'd walk down the hall, go outside, and she'd be back in bed faster than anyone would expect.

But something inside her was urging her to stay outside and explore.

If she was caught, she wondered, would she be grounded?

She had a lot of things she needed to do. She didn't like missing school. She had an important exam coming up tomorrow. She couldn't miss that. She had to study. She didn't know why, but she always felt guilty. Her mother had been dead for quite a few years. She had died from a disease called something like "fibroids" and she'd had a couple of heart attacks. She couldn't entirely remember. The pain in her leg was getting worse. It was very uncomfortable. It was getting worse and worse. It seemed to be spreading. It was strange. It felt like it was burning. It was as if she'd been stung by a bee.

She simply had to leave. She felt as if she were getting the flu.

She stood and started walking.

The leaves under the trees were thick, light brown, and dry. They crunched under her feet as she walked, but they didn't make much sound. They were old, but seemed soft and comfortable.

She thought that she should not be there. She simply did not belong there. She wasn't sure why. She thought that maybe she had been somewhere else and she was just trying to figure it out again. She wasn't sure. It seemed like it must have been a long, long time ago. She wasn't sure it that was true. It was hard to decide. It was very hard to move forward. The pain was making it difficult to concentrate. There was something in her leg that was making it burn really, really bad. She looked up and back. She wasn't sure. She tried to figure it out. It was hard to even think. Her leg was really hurting. Everything in the world was so unclear. She felt a little weak and she wasn't sure of anything. It was like she was borrowing time. She felt like she could have been anywhere.

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