The Woman Who Drank The Sky

The city had been dying for as long as anyone could remember. Now it just kept on dying.

The sun loomed over the rooftops, its heat a relentless force, squeezing the life from the city. In the cracked canals, shallow water simmered, releasing lazy steam. Concrete walls, once sturdy, crumbled into chalky dust under the relentless sun. Roads, once smooth, lay fractured, their surfaces split like open wounds. The wind swept fine dust through the streets, moving it from one abandoned district to another. The desert, once a distant threat, had crept closer over the years, engulfing entire neighborhoods.

The sky had dimmed into a fragile, cracked shell, like an ancient relic. A faint hint of color lingered, stretched thin like a whisper, pale and ghostlike against the vastness. The vibrant blue of the past had vanished, as if stolen by unseen hands. Some whispered of greedy theft, others talked of careful harvesting. Yet, the towering wells stood, their spindled arms reaching skyward, turning slowly as they siphoned the remaining color, leaving the heavens a pale wasteland.

She walked with her head down, coat pulled tight against the dry wind that lifted her hair in weak gusts. The marketplace still stood, its narrow lanes winding through the cracked heart of the city.

Canvas awnings hung limply between metal poles, their once vibrant colors faded to dull gray. The air smelled of heated metal, worn-out engines, and lingering spices.

The vendors sold broken machines, scavenged scraps, corroded tools, brittle books, and thin ribbons of dried meat curling under the sun. Traders spoke little, exchanging goods with brief glances. Words had become an unnecessary expense.

At the outermost corner of the market, where the pavement was uneven and weeds clustered together, stood the stall she was looking for.

The vendor sat beneath a patchwork canopy that flapped lazily in the dry wind. His long fingers rested on his lap, and his goggles’ black lenses mirrored the brittle sky. He barely moved as she approached.

"You’re early," he said, voice dry like the wind.

She didn’t answer.

He reached for the wooden box beside him, opening it with a soft click. Inside, rows of glass vials nestled like fragile bones. Each one glowed faintly, pulsing drops of blue, like captured pieces of a sky that no longer existed.

"This batch is clean," he said. "Northern well. Less sediment. The wells are thinning, but there's still enough for now."

She picked up one vial and tilted it. The liquid moved reluctantly, thick and slow, the blue shifting like distant lightning behind clouds.

"The price hasn’t changed."

She slid the coins onto the scale. The vendor glanced at the weight, then swept the money away without counting.

"You know," he said, quieter now, "the first sip feels like air after drowning. It fools you into thinking you’re breathing again."

She said nothing.

He stared at her through the lenses, voice turning almost gentle. "I’ve watched enough chase it. They think they're reaching for memories. Really, they're just numbing the part that remembers."

Her grip tightened around the vial.

"You keep going," he continued, "and one day you wake up hollow. A shadow with bones." His hand hovered briefly over the other vials, like he was considering his own product. "Some call it peace. Most who drink the sky just don’t come back."

"I know what I’m doing," she said, flat.

He nodded, but his voice dropped one last note.

"No one ever says they don’t."

The box closed softly. She turned. The wind carried his final words as she walked away.

"You're not drinking to remember. You're drinking because forgetting hurts more."

She didn’t answer. The wind swallowed his words.

Her apartment waited at the edge of the market quarter. The building leaned under its own weight. Windows shattered long ago had been boarded up or left to gape. The stairs moaned beneath each step. Light leaked through a broken pane, casting warped bands across the cracked walls.

Inside, the room remained unchanged. A narrow bed sat against the far wall, and the chipped porcelain sink sighed with water. In the center, a wooden table held remnants. Among them were a photograph under glass, a tarnished ring in a dish, a toy soldier missing an arm, and a potted plant with curled, struggling leaves.

She paused at the photograph longer this time. Her own face smiled faintly beside a man holding a toddler. The boy clutched a wooden plane, its paint chipped on the wings. She touched the glass but felt nothing.

She placed the vial on the table. The liquid inside shifted and she quietly watched it for a long time.

The city groaned under the settling heat as the sky dimmed, shadows spilling across rooftops into an empty void.

She filled a glass halfway with water from the tap, which smelled faintly metallic, and uncorked the vial. A thin hiss slipped into the air as the seal broke, and a single drop fell.

The liquid expanded instantly, folding outward in delicate threads, turning the water into a swirling column of clouded blue.

She stirred once and the storm settled.

She raised the glass, hesitated for a moment, took a breath, and then sipped.

The taste was always the same, cool and slightly sweet, with a bitterness lurking beneath the sweetness, like something soft wrapping around a sharp core, while the warmth unfurled slowly, spiraling through her chest.

The world softened.

The paint on the walls smoothed as the cracks narrowed, and the fabric covering the window lifted faintly on a phantom breeze while the light grew richer.

The ceiling dissolved into an infinite sky. Clouds moved like slow dancers. Silver birds called across vast currents. Somewhere, waves broke against distant shores long since dried beyond the city’s edge.

Her breathing eased as the heavy grief in her chest lightened and became momentarily weightless.

When the vision faded, she lay still, eyes fixed on the mirror by the door. Her reflection stared back with unsettling patience. The eyes were sharper than her own, their light too clean.

She blinked. The reflection blinked after her, a half-second behind.

She rose and stood before it, her face thinner and her skin carrying the pale translucence of absence. The reflection smiled faintly before her lips moved.

Morning brought a knock.

"You haven’t come out in days," her neighbor said gently. "Are you well? You should eat something."

She stayed silent, her gaze locked onto the table.

The knocking stopped.

She sat through the night, tracing the shadows that danced along the walls.

By dawn, she was walking again.

She roamed through the city as dawn's light seeped between the crumbling towers. Images clung to her like fog. Blue butterflies fluttered at the edge of her vision. The walls seemed to breathe softly. The sky above shifted into hues never seen before. Even without the liquid, the alternate world followed her. Sometimes, she reached out to the shimmering forms, but her fingers always caught only air.

The vendor stood waiting. As she walked closer, the air seemed to push against her.

"You move quickly," he said. "Faster than most."

She handed him the coins. The pouch felt noticeably lighter. He lifted the lid of the box, revealing the vials glistening in the dim sunlight.

"This is stronger," he said, selecting a darker vial. "It'll take you further. The deeper you go, the more you leave behind."

"I'm ready."

"You think you're reaching for hope, but it's all reflections now," he murmured. "You aren't chasing freedom. You're chasing the shape of what you lost."

"I don't care."

"You believe you're searching for a way out," he added softly. "Really, you're just looking for a mirror."

She left as dust spiraled into the dying light.

The vial felt heavy in her pocket, pulling at her as she climbed the stairs. Inside, the apartment seemed to close in on itself. The ceiling's cracks spread like veins. The plant's leaves curled tightly. The photo under the glass looked blurred, like it was hidden behind a thin layer of ice.

She placed the vial in the middle of the table, and the liquid inside barely moved.

Outside, the wind hummed like a soft voice, while the atmospheric wells in the distance droned, stretching into the vacant sky.

She readied the glass again. A drop fell into the water, hovering for a moment before spreading into tight spirals that glowed softly from within.

She stirred it once, then drank.

The flavor was denser this time, coating her tongue with a weight that clung long after she swallowed. The warmth seeped into her bones, but behind it flickered a pulse of cold like a warning.

The candle flame leaned toward her.

The walls split apart and the ceiling broke open, letting stars pour through the cracks, swirling in strange shapes.

She stood as the floor turned soft beneath her feet and strands of light unfurled. Her breath turned into floating starlight.

She floated.

The threshold shattered.

She crossed.

The ground beneath her feet felt soft and fresh. The lavender grass rustled gently in the wind. Two moons floated quietly overhead. The sky pulsed with a vibrant blue.

She walked.

The trail wound through glowing hills. Streams of liquid light flowed in silver loops. Glass towers spiraled ahead, reflecting endless images of the sky.

The trees reached upward, their branches twisting like crystal ribbons. Their leaves tinkled softly in the cool breeze.

She strolled for hours under that radiant sky. The air smelled of rain. Her footsteps left no mark.

In the distance, a figure appeared.

She slowed.

Beneath a glass tree stood a woman with a child clutching her hand.

As the woman turned, her face came into focus. It was her own. Younger, gentler, untouched by sorrow. The boy looked up and smiled brightly. His lips formed "Mama," but no sound reached her ears. The image stayed. Her heart tightened. She moved forward, hand outstretched. Her fingers slipped through mist. The figures vanished. She stood still, the ache inside her growing.

Farther ahead, more statues appeared, dotting the hills like silent sentinels.

The first stood beneath an arch, arms spread wide. It was the man from the photograph, his frozen smile fixed upon her. Nearby, another statue held the boy close, their hollow eyes gazing through her.

The statues whispered.

"You could’ve chosen differently."

"You left us."

"You might’ve stayed."

"You could’ve been happy."

Their voices twisted like smoke. The wind grew stronger. The sky throbbed. The towers trembled.

Still, she walked.

The rivers dimmed. The towers cracked softly. The grass grew brittle beneath her feet as she climbed a hill that shifted under each step.

At the top, two versions of herself waited.

One smiled gently, hand reaching out. "You don’t need to return," she said. "There’s nothing for you back there. Here, you're safe."

Behind her, the second stood silent, hollow-eyed, unblinking.

Her breath trembled. "I can't stay here."

The smiling self stepped closer. "You deserve peace. There's nothing left worth fighting for."

The mournful self said nothing.

Her legs gave out; she fell to her knees, clutching the withering grass.

Above, cracks spread across the moons. The towers fractured. The rivers blackened. The trees bent under unseen winds.

The inviting self whispered again. "You've suffered enough. Rest. Stay."

The weight pressed down.

"I can't," she rasped. "I can't stay."

The moons shattered. The towers folded inward. The grass turned to smoke. The rivers vanished.

The air screamed.

The ground opened wide, pulling her into a swirling vortex of light. Her breath broke into shards. Her body merged with the flow.

Then silence.

Her eyes fluttered open.

She lay cradled on the apartment floor. The wooden planks felt cool against her skin.

The blue candle had melted into a pool of wax, its thin trails of smoke rising gently.

Morning light filtered through sheer curtains, painting soft colors across the room.

She stayed still, wrapped in the fragile touch of dawn.

The photograph lay untouched, holding its frozen memories. The music box sat silent, its tune trapped inside. The toy soldier leaned sideways, worn from years of standing guard. The plant had collapsed, giving in to neglect. Near her hand, a tiny droplet of blue crept across the wood, catching a flash of light before sinking slowly beneath the grain, leaving a faint stain.

She reached for the edge of the table. Her fingers shimmered faintly as they moved, almost translucent for a moment before settling back into flesh.

The mirror by the door caught her movement. The reflection stared back with patient precision. When she blinked, it blinked a fraction behind her, like it was relearning the rhythm.

A soft knock came.

"You’re awake," her neighbor said gently. "I heard movement. Are you well?"

She didn’t answer.

The knocking stopped.

She stared at the floor.

Outside, the wind moved through broken streets. The sky stretched empty above the rooftops. The atmospheric wells turned silently, their long arms reaching upward, still searching for whatever was left.

She listened to the quiet.

The sky gave her nothing.