Splash - Something a bit surreal.

A curious thing; Lily found herself falling upwards.

It made it hard to re-apply her make-up, and she was always of the belief that a freshly painted lip would always allow her to make a splash as she entered through whichever door to wherever she happened to be going. Yet, the door that she was falling towards did not look like it would belong to the kind of place she wanted to enter. The door was, she fretted, in the style of shabby-chic. She had long distrusted anyone who believed that a ‘distressed’ look was classy. Although, she did find solace in the brass knob. It suggested a certain sense of dignity, and as she could not control her upward momentum, if she were going to crash into a ‘distressed’ door, she wanted to do so with as much dignity as she could muster.

And then she heard a frog galumph. She stopped mid-air, and then suddenly, there was no air, but Lily found herself standing on a lily pad. Stagnant water lapped at her feet, but she dared not move as she was certain she would catch malaria if she fell, or dysentery, or at least a cold. The frog galumphed once more and jumped into the pond – or, not so much jumped, but completed a summersault which Lily thought seemed inconsistent with what she knew about frogs. The water rippled concentric circles – getting closer to Lily on her lily pad and in that moment of distraction, she fell.

A curious thing; perhaps; Lily did not find herself falling upwards this time, but instead, she fell – expecting a splash which never came, instead, she was falling from a great height. And then, with a thud, she landed in an oversized bowl of straw and twigs. She heard the growls of an oversized baby bird. It cawed for its mother; its hunger beginning to be satisfied for what was on its plate. Lily took one step back and then another, and then she put her hand behind her to grab a stick in an attempt to make herself less vulnerable prey and more armed prey. She swung the stick in front of her, and she saw she was clutching a medieval sword.

The surprise took her, although Lily did find herself questioning whether she had an appropriate grip for such a weapon. She looked up and laid out in front of her was a feast with a roasted bird at the centre of a table. Candle light cast an eerie mood across the room; and the coldness of the stone walls and stone floors left her feeling unease – in this space, she even found herself longing again for that ‘distressed’ door. She looked to the far wall, and while the animal heads seemed appropriate for the setting, she couldn’t help but wonder how the ‘lodge’ look was again setting property trends.

A curious thing happened next, one of the animal heads began to speak. It was the boar, whose long tusks gave him a distinguished look. His voice was gruff and Lily found him quite abrupt. “Baby, we were born to run”, the boar started, and Lily found herself wanting to tap her feet. It sounded like the chorus of a song she vaguely remembered. Then the boar got more assertive, “Run, or you’ll lose your head”. Lily couldn’t help but chuckle, as it sounded very much like the Queen of Hearts was about to burst through the door – but as she looked towards the great door, paying particular note of the dignified brass knobs, she decided not to find out whose steps were echoing closer to the door. She run to the window and jumped through it. Of course, it wasn’t so much a jump, but a forward summersault.

On landing, Lily made a conscious decision not to open her eyes – instead, she took out her lipstick and reapplied. Afterall, she knew, that wherever she happened to be, a freshly painted lip would allow her to make a splash.

Cover created in CANVA using free elements.