Collective Rapture: A Fictional Narrative

Pain is a harsh reminder that one is still very much connected to the collective rapture called existence; a belonging which often resonates radially as it does its utmost best to alert one that to continue with the chosen action, to continue along the chosen path, is not without harsh yet definitely quantifiable inauspicious consequences. It was this pervasion of ecstasy, one which she had rejected sometime in the past, that finally forced her to open her eyes, and which saved her from permanent oblivion of her last, true self.
Stars spiraled then faded in her torpid gaze, revealing to her clearing vision a shoe a leather-laced shoe flopped over on one side, its heeled scuffed, its toe slightly peeling, its ornate seascape design along the
As her eyes adjusted to the ghostly blue light of the waning full moon, she began to see the room. The walls were marble, speckled with peach swirls; she'd always found it odd, considering the rest of the make up of the building was limestone and granite. She paused at the stray thought Her mind didn’t bother to explain her how she knew the dark streaks in the marble were peach nor did it bother to inform her how she knew it was marble she was looking at. These things were fact to her and couldn't be disputed.
On the left wall facing into the room hung a fairly dusty old tapestry of a sunset overlooking the sea: Napoli dal Mare.
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She loved it as the sun settled beyond the limestone cliffs, as the sky lights becomes the colors of a well used embers. She imagines she could touch it and lift it out of the sea which would eventually blanket it so tight. She settled into a state of eudaemonia as a welcome arms surrounds.
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The memory stabbed her so sharp, so real served to do what the sight of the shoe did not. Something inside her was now awake. She groaned, blinked back watery tears and continued to survey the