An Eternity of Autumns.

I place my hand on the sheet of ice covering the small pond, but my skin can never thaw the silent, dormant layer. Below the frosted pane I can see tiny snails clinging to large pale pebbles, and dark sides of the plastic liner. Bubbles have been caught and suspended in the ice, and would have to wait for higher temperatures before they could be released from their icy prison.

Memories of another icy pond, a lake, frozen at the edges, cause panic to zip through my stomach. A heavy weight pressing at my chest. The burning need to breathe. A change of mind. Distant voices calling in panic. The gentle lure of the darkness below. Quiet acceptance.

I make my way to the edge of the garden and stare into the woods. The sun is beginning to set, and the pink-purple late autumn sky shares its pigment with the tops of the evergreen trees. A buzzard circles high, calling its mate in a high wail. He whistles back. I envy their freedom.

A breeze caresses the long grass and the branches of the trees, a breeze that will never touch me, or move my clothes or hair. I long to smell the changing seasons. I long to taste blackberries, ripe apples, hot cider and freshly baked bread. I long to taste toasted pumpkin seeds and to smell the smouldering gas scent of a blown out candle.

I long for rest.

A sound brings me from my thoughts. A girl dressed in cropped jeans and a loose sweatshirt. She is giggling and poking a stick into the mud at the banks of the lake. She flicks the mud at a boy who nimbly bounces back and avoids most of the mud bombs, but a streak decorates his cheek, enhancing his boyish beauty. She smirks, but her flushed cheeks betray her feelings.

''Stop it, Pammy!''

''No, I have to get you back for throwing me in last week!'' She giggles, going for the mud again, but he swoops in quickly, and throws her over his shoulder. She yells, and slaps his behind with the stick. He carries her up through the long grass towards the house. She giggles and protests, but I know she secretly loves the turn of events.

I smile. There is no point in joining in with their laughter. I discovered years ago that no-one hears me.

Young love is so selfish and so innocent. I remember those feelings. I remember being excited at the thought of seeing a pair of blue eyes, a sharp, straight nose, and a thatch of thick dark hair on a handsome face.

I remember that summer of obsession, of beating hearts and promises about the future. My throbbing heart still remembers being shattered into a thousand pieces upon walking into that barn in ealy autumn, and seeing two silhouettes, entangled, and the shock in those blue eyes on the handsome face.

The couple disappears through the back door. I haven't been in that house for a very long time. The pots of pansies are no longer there. Instead, two smart looking bay trees stand sentinel on either side of the tiled steps. Lace curtains have been replaced by bamboo blinds, and the wooden window frames are now white PVC. Lower maintenance, I suppose, but I feel a sense of regret that the frames my father sanded and painted every year are no more.

I wander towards the water's edge. It used to frighten me, and for many years I avoided going near the muddy bank. I couldn't bear to look into the murky depths. But as time passed, I realised it was pointless: the water couldn't hurt me again. The darkness could only take me once.

I sit down among the long grass and try to remember what autumn smelled like. It had always been my favourite season. Before. The 'soft season' I would call it, with its soft light and gentle breezes. This 'life' of mine only allows me to observe, and not feel or taste or smell.

I don't know how long I have been here. Time has no effect on a being who cannot experience seasons. A long time ago, I gave up trying to understand why I am here. I tried to 'leave' by throwing myself into the darkness of the lake once more, but it can't steal my breath any more than once. For weeks, I lay at the bottom of the lake, watching life above. Fish, otters and birds would live their lives, oblivious to my presence, their silhouettes cast by the shifting light.

I would often scream and yell into the night, asking 'Why?' I would try to stab myself with sharp stones and sticks, but it took me so long to gather enough energy to lift them, and then they just passed right through me, so that was no use, either. I would call out, hoping to find others like me. Once, a girl, walking alone in the woods, stopped as though she had heard me. She looked right at me, her face a mixture of questions and disbelief. I keep watch on the spot where I last saw her, before she ran off, hoping she will return. I long for a friend.

So, here I am, the girl who threw herself into the lake to 'forget', but in a cruel twist of fate, I am still here, where I can only watch, and remember.