Post by WolfDawn185 on Sept 12, 2011 4:47:45 GMT -5
I was inspired to write this original fiction by an experience I had yesterday at the high school. Before a choir concert we were having in honor of the victims of 9/11, I pulled off a leaf from a plant identical to the one in this story, looked at both sides of it, and heard the sounds of a flute come down a nearby hill and eventually 'fade' when the player went inside the building 
I look at the strange leaf I hold in my left hand. It's black and leathery on top, and when I hold it up to the sun, orange and yellow colors shine through it. I flip it over and look again at it, to see that it has a red underside. It's a strange leaf. I'm not even sure whether it's dead or alive. On the plant there are other leaves that look dead and shriveled that are green and yellow, and I wonder even more if the one I hold in my hand is alive or dead.
Then I realize it is dead. I pulled it off the plant. It can't draw from the plant anymore for water or food. But as for the other leaves, I can't tell. Maybe the whole plant is dead and I won't be able to know.
I wonder where I am. I wonder who I am. I wonder if I am dead, just like this plant.
But if we were both dead, wouldn't we both be alive?
I can hear the sound of someone's pipe over the hills of the bowl-shaped valley that surrounds me. It's one more question to add to my list. But how will I speak to someone if I don't know their language?
Something is telling me that I have a past that I can't remember. That somehow, against all odds, I will have to recover my memories myself.
Memories of a person I once knew.
I look at the strange leaf I hold in my left hand. It's black and leathery on top, and when I hold it up to the sun, orange and yellow colors shine through it. I flip it over and look again at it, to see that it has a red underside. It's a strange leaf. I'm not even sure whether it's dead or alive. On the plant there are other leaves that look dead and shriveled that are green and yellow, and I wonder even more if the one I hold in my hand is alive or dead.
Then I realize it is dead. I pulled it off the plant. It can't draw from the plant anymore for water or food. But as for the other leaves, I can't tell. Maybe the whole plant is dead and I won't be able to know.
I wonder where I am. I wonder who I am. I wonder if I am dead, just like this plant.
But if we were both dead, wouldn't we both be alive?
I can hear the sound of someone's pipe over the hills of the bowl-shaped valley that surrounds me. It's one more question to add to my list. But how will I speak to someone if I don't know their language?
Something is telling me that I have a past that I can't remember. That somehow, against all odds, I will have to recover my memories myself.
Memories of a person I once knew.