Alright so I’m trying this sub-series within the main series about Van Gogh. My overactive imagination needs to go somewhere!
I fell asleep one night and woke up face to face with the heavens and the stars. I was lying on my back as one usually does when sleeping, but I wasn’t in my bed. I seemed to be on the ground.
A spider had crawled up my body and found a resting place on my cheek. I shook it off quickly, or rather, I gave a yelp and shot up from the ground waving my arms like
The spider dropped and scuttled away to look for a new resting place. I could imagine it laughing at me. I hate spiders, I mumbled, as if anyone were around to hear me anyway. My voice echoed eerily among the dark silhouettes of trees that were all around me.
A cold breeze blew my long hair back–wait! I stopped my thought process which was running away with itself again. Where was I? I turned about.
The hard dirt felt cold and uneven beneath my bare feet. My hands swept the open air as I craned my neck upwards to a darkening turquoise sky.
Reasoning that no one, not even a lost person, should stand in the middle of what appeared to be a trail in the middle of a grove, I started to walk. Maybe the other way is the right way?
It’s funny how when one neither knows the circumstance nor the consequences right and wrong seem rather unimportant. There was a rustling behind me and spinning around I came in collision with a man. We both yelled in fright, both of us falling backwards. The packages he was carrying sprawled out on the trail.
“Damnit!” cried the stranger. I could feel my heartbeat racing. All the warning signals about men were going off in my head.
“S-sorry,” I stammered moving backwards. The man reached out and grabbed the tail of my shirt.
“Wait, who are you?” Was this guy for real? I snatched my shirt out of his grip and found it covered in paint. An artist?
“I’m lost, I think,” I said cautiously. Things were beginning to become clearer and yet more confusing at the same time. “Who are YOU?” I asked, trying to assert fake confidence.
By this time we had already gotten up and straightening up his back, he adjusted his jacket and extended his hand, “You can call me Vincent.”