The monotonous drone of a bee drills into my daze. Where am I, I wonder? There are flowers underneath my feet. Dry rotting flowers. Roses and sunflowers. Carnations and orchids. All heaped in a pile, squelching as I walk on them. The red roses were tipped with brown. The once white flowers had given way to their brethren of brown.
Someone knows that the flowers are rotting. But they lit incense sticks instead of carting the flowers away. The fake smell of jasmine threads through the stench. There are shades of green I can see in the distance, through a grey fog.
I walk quicker, trying to escape the the fragrances. They almost overpower me, but I keep walking.
What was this horrid place? A dump yard for all the unwanted flowers of yesterday? A morgue for all the loved flowers of today? A perfume factory?
But then I step on a piece of cake. The cake was the rat’s dinner, perhaps, judging from the way he ignores me and continues to gnaw at it. It was perhaps chocolate at a time, or maybe pineapple and gone to rot. He was plump. Perhaps he feasted every night on these flowers and cakes. There was some bread too, and rice, being lorded over by a hoarde of cockroaches.
They seemed to be intently poking at it, wondering if it was fit to it. You survived the ice age, the nuclear holocaust. How much damage could a piece of bread do to you? I laughed but they ignored me. Must be a good piece of bread, I thought.
The grey mist continued. A dreary evening, if you ask me. Or perhaps it was daylight still. Everything was hazy, clouded in smoke and the smell of flowers. I could feel the cold wind bite at my skin, but the trees stayed still as if there was no breeze. I rubbed my skin, a chill colder than the wind biting into me.
I wanted to get away from here. This morgue of flowers, food and vermin. The grey mist made it hard to see anywhere but the path in front of me. The promise of green trees continued to lure me, seeming close yet far.
A curious silence around me, with a whisper of wailing voices. A murmur of words. A tug of something painful.
Yet I floated. I floated in worlds I have never known. These were sights and sounds I had never known in my lifetime. And I knew I would never again hear them in my lifetime.