So Poire started running, away from the lemur, and deeper into the forest. The blackness of her surroundings swallowed her figure into the dark, dark night. But stop was a word Poire had left behind her by now. As the hands on the clock which contained her destiny advanced by a minute, she huffed and ignored the petals that fell from her head, whipped by the fingers of the trees that wooshed and pointed at her tiny little body.

However, Poire hadn’t taken into account that she had been aimlessly dashing through the leaves and dirt without a proper plan, and when she heard the sounds of water, it was already too late.

The splash she made was not a big one. It was like a pebble in the middle of an ocean; and yet she was gravely affected. Her lungs filled up with aqua, and her mind with words that washed over her like waves tainted purple.

“You must begin to think about it seriously, Poire. Your sister has already made plans after all.”

The voice belonged to her father.

But I don’t want to, Poire thought. I only wish to eat the pear-flavored pies in our kitchen, once so lovely. Why are you asking so much of me when I can barely even keep myself up on two feet?

She coughed. She swallowed more water. Poire was sinking now, into the depths of what she considered to be the unknown. Her eyes flew open. She looked around for a trace of forgiveness, a way out; or perhaps a way in.

A gray fish with a flat head, and strange deformities at its edges, swam toward her face. As it parted its little lips and made bubbles spring up to the surface, this time it was her younger brother’s voice that rang beside her ears. “Yes, Poire! Think about it! Think about it! Think! Think! Think! Thinkity, thinkity, think!”

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Poire couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed.

The voice came out of the creature’s mouth. And the more it spoke, the bigger it got. And as it grew, and grew again, Poire could not affirm whether it was now human or not. It resembled a bundle of limbs, all squashed together in the wrong places and order, yet it swam—and spoke to her in more ways than one.

Poire’s eyes became lidded as her body grew weak. Her breaths disappeared, just like the creature had now, leaving her to ponder on what was real and what was not. She struggled to reach the surface once more, but there was no light, no moon to illuminate her prison of aqua. And without a guide, without knowing whether she was swimming up or down, she sunk again.

Poire took one last breath, and then she was back in her bathroom, in her tiny little square tub with her tiny little brother banging on the wooden door and screaming for her to leave.

She looked down to her hands; they were not dirty as they had been in the forest.

The water she sat in had gone cold; it was only now that it occurred to her the ocean she had been drowning in did not take into consideration the existence of temperature.

Another knock on the door came soon after, interrupting her thoughts. “Poire, darling? Shall I call the priest again?” her mother asked. “You’ve been in there for more than an hour. If something is wrong, we will do everything we can. We will pray for you.”

Poire rose from the tub. “No, there’s no need for that. I’ll be out on a minute,” she said before pulling the plug and watching as the bath emptied itself of its blood.

She stepped out of the door frame and through another.

The shadows were still dancing on her bedroom walls.

That night, Poire avoided mirrors, for she was afraid of what she might find if not flowers and a lost mind.

When she awoke the next day, there were no leaves, or chilled touches from foreign winds. And as Poire faced the dreaded window, leading to multiple buildings and a risen sun, it hadn’t occurred to her that the ominous forest could hold such a place in her heart—for she found herself missing its company.