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There were snakes in the old stone place, but the grass grew so green... It was just so tempting to lay down and enjoy the feel of leaves and earth, but the risk of poison wasn’t worth it. Even then, it was still the place of her childhood, the one to sit down and let go of her thoughs and worryes, to any spirit or stalker that may be educated enough to just listen. From there a couple of poems were born, also some illustrations, and the seeds for longer stories, it was her refuge, and watching it so abandoned, so covered by time and absence reminded her of time, or her own life and the carefully crafted pieces that were falling apart. She needed a breather, far away from “today”, and here it was, with her sitting down and letting out a sigh. Vibrant, that is how she could describe the grass coloration, it was alive amidst what for anyone would be a disaster, a metaphor of life being there, beautiful and shining in the most strange places, but the other side was also true: snakes, some good, some bad were also there, like lies crawling between sweet words and pleasantries. A melody started, high pitch, supposedly happy but making her feel bitter, and all the critters scared. She picked up her phone.
"*Caller, are you there?*" Suddenly, another voice came on the line, with the kind of shyness that you only show towards your superiors, or someone who could hurt you really bad. She steeled her nerves, and rewired her brain towards the one she was supposed to be: “The Caller”, the voice that orders in The Organization. “*Yes Worker, I wouldn’t be answering if I wasn’t here. What is going on?*”. Yes, cold, sarcastic, strong, that’s how she was. “*Well, the operation went fine, but there was an unexpected complication…*” “*Yes…?*”. She was dreading this answer. “*The parents are dead, but the girl… she didn’t die, we shot her several times, and she came back while we were cleaning the place, clothes filled with bullet holes, but her body unharmed. Is she an…?*” “*Those things are not to be talked about so casually over the phone, no matter how secure the line is. Kept her watched, I’m going there*”. Remembrance time was over.
The road towards The Organization’s headquarters was short, the streets empty like any early Sunday in that part of town, and once there, the quiet Assistants parked her car and showed her the way towards the girls room. She excused the Medical Assistant and entered the dimly lit room. The girl was in an austere but comfortable bed, one big pillow raised her head a little, so it was at a good angle for The Caller to watch her despite the low illumination. Round pudgy face, rosy cheeks, irregular breathing. The older woman put a hand on her forehead and the girl stirred in her sleep, mumbling something. She had a cold. It was to be expected, being a Chosen who was awakened so suddenly and quite frankly, so horribly, must have put a strain in her young body. It was best to let her rest, she would need a calm mind to process everything that happened to her, her resurrection, what she saw in the Great Beyond while it happened, and how her life would be from now on. It may have been better to stay dead.

https://steemitimages.com/DQmW8sGb9gP4tPpZdL94qbfJWZNhTH2QJS85yfXr7ncaAEX/12.png For: https://steemit.com/freewrite/@mariannewest/the-weekend-freewrite-5-25-2019-part-3-the-dramatic-twist

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