I look at the dead trees that once swayed with the wind alive and well. Is it possible that they are linked to my soul? I walk towards a broken fence kept as boundary for the different types of gardens.
I step on black leaves, already flattened and plastered against the narrow and paved walkway between the trees. Light fog mixed with lingering death surrounds me. I reach the place where the strawberries once grew. On what is left of the fence, a faded dark purple stain. My heart skips a beat as my stomach falls deeper into gravity. I walk closer to the stain. My hand reaches for it.
Right when my fingers touch the stain, the fog clears away. I am back to when everything was alive. I hear birds chirping instead of an eerie silence carried by the wind. I see mom sitting and leaning against the fence playing the guitar. The strawberries are her audience today. She is singing a song she wrote when she learned her first three chords a month ago.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
My stomach feels uneasy as I turn to see my twelve year old self walking along the pavement in a white sundress. I walk towards my old self telling her to turn back if she still wants happiness in the future. I tell her to turn around before her brain gets permanently stained.  I tell her to just walk past the strawberries and mom.
But she cannot hear me and proceeds to walk closer to the strawberries.
I stand in front of her with my arms up, tears flowing down my face. She walks through me. I stay in my spot crying harder.
“Please,” I scream.
“Please,” I whisper.
My twelve year old self stopped for the briefest moment then turned into the strawberry garden. Instead of following her, I ran along the paved pathway. Farther into the farm. In my peripheral vision, I see thin tree trunks. Wind is hitting me in my face. I close my eyes hoping my legs have carried me far enough.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The abrupt sound startles the birds. They swarm away like bees from the tree creating a bird-tornado that engulfs me.