Monicha's Somber

Monicha’s Somber | 3

Monicha thought she would be dead. She closed her eyes and felt herself drop.

Instead of death—as she had expected—she felt soft grass as she landed on her back.

She opened her eyes.

Where she was now had an Arizona sky, gentle sun rays making the indigo grass shimmer. She was sitting on a patch—one of many patches—of grass, with flowers, big and small, dancing lightly to the cool breeze every two meters away. At the north side was a dark green forest, with leaves so green they looked like paint and small drops of crystal-clear water rolling on them. At the east side was a river so clear one could see the colorful gemstones underneath.

This place was like no other. No place on Earth could ever be so silent and peaceful, with only the cutest animals and the most elegant flowers.

At this time, a tiny blue bird flew over to Monicha, landing on her outstretched hand. She was still sitting on the ground.

She felt like Snow White.

The bird flew away. Monicha strode over—catwalk style, even if she hadn’t known it at the time—to the river and searched for her reflection.

But the only thing moving along with her own movements was totally something different.

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