Michelle Wallace and Jasen Nicely

Wallace 1_resized_RE

Michelle Wallace

Created using Jasen Nicely’s story (below) as inspiration

End Of All
By Jasen Nicely

It’s cold but only just cold enough to wear a light jacket and maybe some gloves. It’s not like middle of December in New York cold but more like annoying cold where you wish the weather would make up it’s damn mind and go one way or the other, Luke cold, yeah that could accurately express it. It’s windy too and the wind keeps blowing my hair across my face, forcing me to remove it from my face every so often. I look up and see that the sky is overcast in an almost solid grey with the sun breaking through between cracks once in a while. The wind is blowing in short but sharp bursts almost every 30-45 seconds, literally as in like clockwork. Is wind even supposed to do that? From the looks of things I’d say it’s fall or the end of fall, maybe about four in the afternoon. The overcast sky paints the park where I am at and everyone In it with a dull tone and its almost like watching a black and white movie play out in front of me. What is really weird is this one tree in the park, it’s on top of a little hill and for half a second I think of a U2 song and a really lame TV drama but I digress. The thing that is so darn interesting about this tree is the fact that while everyone else has this grey-ish thing going on, the leaves on the tree are this bright orange and red colors and no one notices except me. Everyone else just walks on by like nothing is out of the ordinary. The closer I look at the tree I realize that it’s smoking and STILL no one is even noticing anything! Everyone is just walking with their head down obviously pre-occupied with the destination and paying no attention to the journey or the fact that there is what seems to be a burning, orange leafed tree in the middle of the city’s public park. There’s also this jerk over on the park bench that keeps staring me down but he’s trying to hide it behind a newspaper like he’s reading. Who even does that anymore? CIA and KGB agents from the 1950’s, that’s who.

So any way like I said, the closer I get to this “tree” the more I realize that this thing is on fire except its not burning up, I said the leaves were orange and they are, only the leaves are each individual flames on the tree itself. Once I arrive at the base of the tree I finally notice this giant hole, just below where the roots stem out from the tree and start going underground, you can even see some of the roots in the hole however they look worn, as if they aren’t even functional anymore. As I look into the hole I see something or rather, someone. She’s wearing a light grey hoodie like mine, she even has her hair done in pigtails like me and that’s when it hits me. Its my reflection, there’s no water in the hole either however there are ripples in my reflection as if there was. Ok so let’s get this straight, everyone and everything is grey or grey-ish except for a tree in the middle of a city park that is on fire and smoking but not burning at the bottom of which is a hole with my ripply reflection in it that has no water all this with a pervy 1950’s CIA/KGB agent that wont stop staring at me. It’s officially tI’me to start freaking out. I’m not even sure I have a proper chance to wrap my head around this mind-fuck of a situation when I start to feel this tug at my jacket, I look down and my reflection has a chunk of my hoodie with this sick, evil grin. She’s pulling me in and the closer I get to “me” the more things start to black out. I’m struggling but its not working really well, I figure I’m done for. At this point pervy CIA agent is looking pretty good. I’m sure he wouldn’t pull me into a holle under a not burning tree and make me black out, or maybe he would I don’t really care at this point, I’m numb, even in my cheeks and I can barely feel it when someone slams into me. I don’t even feel pain, just the force of my momentum changing and the harsh prickles of the winter park grass against my skin. Then, nothing, I’m done, finito, no more. It feels like my life has been drained out of me and I’m pretty sure this is how I died. So how am I telling you this? Good Question.


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