alison
She finds it only when she is falling. Through the air, through the mugginess in her world, through everything that she never knew how to handle when she was standing on the ground. She atoms tug at her molecules and beg her to come apart, to return to something more simple and easy. She dives, into the water, down down down and sees the blue the green the redyellowbrownpurplegrayblackpink more clearly than ever.
Down to the bottom where her sunlight reaches, but that's it, where she rests on the seabed and finds that in her escape she is healed of toxicity and breathes in the water deep deep deep.
It's sunny. And the water is shiny, or sparkling, or something. She never was that good with words. Not like him.
He would probably be finding some way to use them now, out on the sail boat where he was supposedly learning how to find his way around the ocean. But he won't be there, and she knows this; she knows that he will give her false details about the experiene when she asks, and be reliving the other moments in his head, the one where he filled some other girl's glass with alcohol.
And afterwards.
And even though she smells the grass, feels the wind, hears the laughter of the children next door. And even though she can feel the bark on the tree and see the colors in the sky. And even though she knows that if she went to sleep in her own bed it would sill be there. Even though she knows all of this, it can't override the fact that she saw her own funeral.