Writing is a Riddle

She wandered the halls of this strange place looking for something that did not yet exist, but was still determined to find. It wasn't a hallway per se, but it was a semblance of one with a series of doors that didn't belong together in one apartment complex let alone in one confined area. Oak, Cherry, plastic, glass, cloth, they all mocked her knowing her mission was in vain. The real problem would begin when they would start mixing themselves up and jumping on top of one another. Doors that didn't stay put made it difficult to find things that one misplaced or didn't misplace at all, for one can know behind which door exactly said thing was placed, however, if that same door doesn't stay put, one should say that they have misplaced the door and not the thing. It's a shame that some would believe misplacing a door to be silly as they must have lost many things looking for the wrong one.

Shadows teased her peripheral vision so much that she learned not to whirl suddenly to find nothing there. Instead she continued to plow on ignoring the jumble of wire, twine, yarn or what have you that was accumulating on the floor. With each brush of her bare feet against the bizarre bramble, she was met with a sensation that either made her smile or frown or delve deeper in thought or lapse into some sort of day dream. Subconsciously, she realized she must be getting close. As an afterthought, she stooped down and disentangled wire from twine and yarn and was met with vivid images and sound. So abrupt was it that she dropped the piece of twine and yarn in surprise and the assault on her senses faded.

Once again startled, she dove back into the knotted mess careful to touch only one string of thought at a time. She avoided the ones that were made of barbed wire and wondered when it was that she had conceived them. Oh well, that riddle was for another day. Her fingertips brushed against a lone vine and a world of trees sprang up through her vision. The air was clean and somewhat humid, her clothes were already heavy with the extra moisture. The scent of flowers of all kinds saturated her nose and the sound of animals large and small whispered in her ears.

"Ah, this is the one," she murmured to no one in particular. The more she followed the vine, the more the way cleared and became less cumbersome for her journey. She met a red head and her grandmother and a man that was not a man at all. She met good people and some evil. There was magic thought to have been gone and cowardice and bravery, cunning and stupidity. She halted when all around her went inexplicably blank.

In her hand, the vine had come to a brown and withered end. Yes, this was what she had been looking for, dismal as it was. Gently as she dared, she breathed onto the little vine and began to whisper to it. Slowly at first, saplings sprouted from the ground and then with a roar, shot into the clouds. The cry of wild life rose from a stifled whimper and flowers were in full bloom once more. The heroine was falling to her death and a dark enemy was on the horizon. What to do?

She smiled, "Ah yes, I know." She began speaking again. This time the words spilled and pooled as they fell from her mouth and connected with the vine. It continued on beside her, never in front and never behind. It was her companion as she went in search of her ending.