Brianna Stanford

Once More

Death sat in a field. It was a field of nourished green with an abundance of flourishing flowers. A light breeze blew perfume across her nose and rustled the long strands of her hair. The wide brim of her hat protected her sensitive eyes from the sun’s blinding rays. In the distance before her, she saw a vision that made her stomach twist with anxiety and her throat tighten in longing. Her fingers curled into a fist and as she felt exhaustion wrack her carefully held composure, the flowers around her feet began to wither.