She was walking down the street again. The street was bare; the dull-red walls and the grey concrete hidden away in the pale darkness. Graffiti grazed the landscape; the black smoke smothering the skies. The lampposts glared down upon the street, monitoring every movement. The cold breeze escaped through the street rattling the chains of the fence that keeps her safe, safe from the darkness , safe from the unknown . She kept walking, enveloped in her own imaginary world, unaware and unwilling to care. The bird began to sing. She lifted her head and opened her eyes. A hole in the fence, an opportunity to change. She approached the fence. The darkness behind lifted, pulling her in. A deep, yellow light shone on the horizon.

She opened her eyes and for the first time, she saw through the lies.

A forest of colours surrounded her. Dangerous dandelions and beautiful bluebells glazed the little outcrop. Indigenous ivy engulfed the sky above her, leaving but a few beaming yellow sunrays shining through. The scent of glamourous sweet peas in the warm wind weaved its way into her nostrils. She embraced the warm fragrance of the jeopardising jasmine and danced with the delicious aroma of the daylilies. The robins cried out in chorus, rejoicing in their small sanctuary. And then she saw it. A rose, as red as love itself. She knelt and felt its precious petals. So light and delicate but firm and poised. “It’s perfect.”

Yet the rose withered and died and the flowers shrivelled, and the trees fell and the robins grew quiet. She tried to save the rose, so innocent and pure, but it was too late. The forest was gone. And the black smoke laughed as it overwhelmed it all in dark, polluting fumes.