the orchard

...Life in the apple orchard was a lonely thing indeed, and there was nothing Lottie could do to avoid the feeling.

She was trapped there, unable to escape and unable to try to escape.

All the orchard was and ever could be was a museum of painful memories.

Sometimes, Lottie swore she could see her.

Miss Emelia.

The memory of Miss Emelia haunted the place like a ghost, and the thought of her infected Lottie like the plague.

Lottie heard her voice in the rustling leaves.

Lottie saw her face in still waters.

The imprint of Miss Emelia was everywhere, and Lottie missed her.

A drop of rain landed in the center of Lottie’s reflection, snapping her out of her trance.

Lottie raised her head.

The rain came in a light drizzle at first, but quickly accelerated into a full on storm.

Her hat was blown straight off her head.

Lottie reached for it, but once the wind stole it, there was no reclaiming it. Her hand lingered in the air, still reaching out for what was already lost.

The storm carried on, uncaring of the pain it was causing and relentless in action.

Lottie ran back to the house as fast as she could.

She changed out of her wet clothes and threw herself on her bed.

Lottie curled into herself and pulled all her pillows and covers overtop her body.

The motion knocked over letters that were stacked on top of her dresser.

Lottie stopped opening them a long time ago.

She was sure they’d be the same as always, friends and family offering to let her move in with them or urging her to leave the orchard .

She peaked her head out of her plush cocoon and stared out the window...