So as rag doll sat on the fallen ash, at the edge of the wood staring across at the ancient Indian plains of the freshly cut wheat stubble she felt her empty mind, a mind so empty that she knew the story was about to begin. She need not hurry. she need not be impatient because there was nothing there to be impatient about. It would come. She felt for the first time her breath come in to her body and in that moment nothing could be sweeter. Her first memory was her first sweet breath of the crisp night air with the fragrance of every aspect of all that surrounded her and all that surrounded her was to be breathed and remembered. Each breath was sweeter than the last and it was at this point, that she could begin to create every memory exactly as she chose and so she did. The story of being sat on the fallen ash tree by the edge of the Indian plain had began and had wandered through the door of eternity into the everlasting space. That is the wonder of the story because now it is written ragdoll will never ever, ever forget that moment.
dalston dalston
51-55, M
Aug 20, 2014