Broken, down.. wasted

It's odd how you can always remember a smell. The smell of the morning’s first dew as the moisture slowly dies into the everyday cycle of evaporation, becoming a part of everything, becoming reborn. The thick crisp fog that lingers low but high enough to see, haunting it's passer byres, blinding them with every chance it finds, snickering when succeeding. The flowers that are no longer sleeping but instead stretching to their fullest to overhear the bits of conversations and secrets shared amongst the trees and the wind. The flowers can try to catch a secret or two, but the trees will never tell. Only to the lost wondering souls who happen to cross paths with them, sitting in their shadows. They would share the secrets to being strong, to staying strong. To hold your head up high, so high you can overlook all of those great sharp jagged mountains we call life and to not be conquered but to have come out of it’s war as the conqueror. At least that is what Amelia saw in her head, in her dreams. She so much wanted to believe that there was something more to this, more to this world. Something rather magical that everyone just simply overlooks. ‘Shame on you for thinking such things,’ her mother would say if she dared share her thoughts with her. ‘Shame on a girl your age thinking such childish nonsense.’ For just a sixteen year old, she knew that in the end, life doesn't accept such thoughts and beliefs. Those types are not welcomed with a friendly smile. You can’t believe that good just exists alone in this life. Good has a family tree just as we do. An on going chain link that connects us for eternity. Good’s equal on the other side of the chain link is Bad. There are alternative endings to peoples stories besides living happily ever after. That there are such things as tragic ones.
         Sometimes the heroes and / or heroines don’t make it to the end..

This Amelia would end up learning.