The sound of shattering glass yanked me abruptly from my reverie. I had returned to my bedroom…the ‘living painting’ had vanished. My mind refused to comprehend what had just happened as it desperately tried to return to the surreal forest. That lofty world was gone. My special tree was lost, too. I found myself back in a harsh reality, soaked in agony.
White hot pain seared through my forearms and hands. Blood sprayed from the cuts and slices. I didn’t attempt to stop the blood flow, although it was spilling all over the floor. I silently watched in morbid awe as the crimson liquid gushed from my wounds.