I'm here - in this place - in my sundress. I lay here in the parking lot. I was moving, someplace somewhere, I supposed but I can't recall where I was going or where I have been. The asphalt burns my skin as I stare at the sky before me into the burning sun. Where am I? I don't know. I don't want to know. I don't care. Nothing is sacred here - not even my memories.

I turn my head to my left. Tall dead grass that stretches to the horizon. No trees. No birds. No people. Only the endless plains that surrounds me in this great middle Americana. I could venture but what would be the point of that? There's only grass. There's always only just grass.

I turn my head to the right. A small rickety gas station much smaller than the flat blacktop that surrounds it. The air holds a tinge of gasoline. I imagined it was once a stop for truckers. I used to imagine that it was once run my some good honesty family. People who only survive off the sweat of their brow. Now it is only an empty barren place filled up by only the humid air. I can't say I imagine anything now. I imagine nothing. There is only the blazing sun above me, the grass below, and the fire that consumes us all.

Where am I? Where am I? Where am I?

Surrounded by the desolation. I stare at the gas station, how it's white paint reflects the sun so bright against the plains. I hear creaking in the distance, or maybe it's only the wind. The only thing that moves is the wind here, as it cascades across the earth forcing the plains to become a great sea because we have none left. I stare before me at the sun. In it's bright yellow halo I see its glory. I see its rainbows and glorious rays. My skin burns red, my lips chapped and dry. Someplace somewhere in the distance the smoky smell of burning rubber fills the air. That's when I see it - a luscious green vine from sights unimaginable grows down, stretching and careening, towards me.

In my heart I hold no fear - this was meant to happen. The vine grows evermore. It stops before my face and from its end grows a giant luscious peach. I pick it from the stem and the vine fades from existence - if it ever existed at all.

I take a bite. Peach juice runs down my chin. I savored its sweetness. Its tender flesh. Its delightful ambrosia. I stare back at the sun, my eyes watering, laying still in my inertia. I close my eyes, the heat and humidity intensifies. Where am I? Where am I? It doesn't matter. I am Here. In This Place. Nothing here matters like nothing mattered Before. I lay here for hours - silent- in my sundress as my flesh sloughs off my bones leaving me bare.

The Plains

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