Theory Of A Malarial Mind.

Chirping of birds, rustling of leaves, a normal day shrouded in queerness only by it's normality. Samara is swinging in the swing her mother made for her just before she died. She misses her mother but an emollient thought passes through her still serene mind as she sees her father carrying firewood into their small neglected cottage built in that godforsaken forest they lived in for so many years.

Dusk soon envelopes the derelict woods with her menstrual mantle as soon as Samara realizes she needs some dry twigs to start the fire in her room. She climbs down from the rusty swing she loves so much and enters the deep forest. Her paths stay hidden in the shade of brandishing canopies. Samara starts to look for some branches small enough, while her father began to cook a deer earlier hunted.

It is a little dark and Samara fears she has gone too deep into the woods and cannot trace her steps back, but when the child's lack of hope has reached its zenith, a bright light reveals itself to the eyes of the wandering little girl. At first she paces slowly, one step turns into two, then two into three and without even wanting to, she finds herself running towards what seems to be a huge fire, but then she suddenly stops. She is terrified and has turned milky white at the sight of her home and all the trees around it being ablaze.

After a few moments spent in a daze, Samara ran back into the forest having no clear reason to that. She did not know whether she runs from the burning colossus or the idea that her father might still be in the hut. The flame of her so called reason flickers close to extinguishment.

Running through what she used to call home, Samara takes time to steal a glimpse of the surrounding view. She sees animals running beside her, bears, squirrels, vixens. The wolf, once a guileful empty-hearted predator, is now the helpless victim of overwhelming fear, surpassed only by his self inflicted despair. She sees the soil nurtured by a few drops of rain coming down from the sky. Her ardent glare reflected in the morass puddles still reminds her of her abiding yet abhorrent dementia.

Samara's wounded naked feet sacrifice the beauty of the quagmire's harmonic smoothness
whilst she runs noiseless abreast of the animals in absentia of judgment. The fragrant liqueur of tears and sweat emanant from her already wrinkled skin embalms her livid portrait like face. All of a sudden, time stops for the little girl for just one moment. Short and misplaced in time, it is sufficient for Samara to admire the true splendor of the forest in spite of the fact that it is being desecrated by wildfire.

The tall grass around the girl undulates slowly leaving itself to be the subject of the wind's whim. The mossy leviathan oaks permit the existence of trickling like creepers on their ragged branches that seem butchered by time's passing. Somewhere near a tree, a small bluebell sheds one of its petals and through the imperfection created, a few rain drops drip on the ground pattering on a plash. The leaves in a tree come up against each other making a sickening yet pleasant noise that creeps to Samara's ears making her still feel at home into the wild.

In that same peculiar moment, the little girl lays eyes on the animals around her and she remembers so vividly how she used to feed the squirrels near her home with her mother beside her. She sees a frolicsome badger between two bushes and even if the patty creature is frozen in time, it still looks as if it wanted to play in the pile of rusted leaves behind him, but then, Samara catches a brief image of the fire reflected in the animal's eyes and remembers the threat she is under.

Time takes its natural course and Samara finds herself running again, caressed only by a few refreshing drops of rain that fall upon her blushing face. She takes shelter in the thought that the light she now sees in front of her is the setting sun, seen through the trunks of some trees. The girl's hopes once almost dead, now grow as she runs faster and faster.

Samara exalts at the pleasing fact that she was right, and as she passes the deep forest's last tree and sits down on a rock quite far from the woods, her mind replenishes to what used to be a temple of thought. Several moments later, the small drops of rain coming down from the sky turned into a short lasting water carnival that extinguished the threatening behemoth.

Samara now sits on the rock and although she watches desolated the smoking debris of the forest, she is glad that she is still alive.


Then, suddenly, Dorah wakes up. Who is Dorah? Dorah is a little girl who got into an accident and fell into a coma.

The forest is her mind, dusky and shaded. Samara is her Instinct of Survival so her escape meant Dorah's awakening. Samara's father represents the physical strength, not gone but weak, and her mother is Dorah's hopes, long dead.

The girl woke from up her coma, but with a cost, amnesia. The trees and bushes were her thoughts and memories. Dorah is now thoughtless, except one picture of her loving family in her head, and that picture still exists because of one single flower that continues to grow unharmed in the forest, a little bluebell with a missing petal.