Everything was crystal clear, compleately focused. It was like I had on the sharpest, clearest glasses anywhere. I could see the moon, brilliantly whit, almost like marble. It wasn't full, but it was there, clear and penetrating. I could see each individual stalk of grass. Grenn as green could ever be. The dewdrops on the grass sparkled and the animals burrowed around them moved, slowly or quickly, but each just as sharp as the next. The trees, with big, big, brown bark, like a picture taken and then enhanced so that it didn't even look realistic. The leaves were individually outlined, green, so green, so green. Gods caring hand in the sky on black velvet laid the stars. They sparkled and twinkled and they were a clear, peircing white.
.undeniably unrepeatable. Better than any picture, or any memory. Beautiful, yet deadly.
Stories are told, over and over, of how everything is sharp when you're about to die.
Stories are told, over and over, of how everything is suddenly clear right befor you turn into another being.
I was heavy. I was like bricks. The clearness hurt like a thousand knives ere peircing me, one by countless one.
Time wizzed by me like a swift river.
I saw myself, young, innocent. A girl with brown hair and big blue eyes and rosy cheeks. I was looking up at the clouds, saying to myself what thy looked like.
I was older, eight, nine. Slim, my hair growing out, curling at the tips. My blue eyes were less peircing now. Less like an icy lake and more like a warm blue sea.
I saw myself now, today, and fourteen. I had the bluest eyes. Dark blue, navy blue. My hair formed ringlets at the tips, not just one color, but shades and shades of brown and a little bit of red, mixing, intertwining. Lying in the grass, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
I moaned. I was pretty, but I didn't want to see myself. No, not this clear , not this honestly. And no matter how clear the pretty