Yellow

Lightheaded and drenched in sweat, Michael stood up before his mind continued to wander. He walked to a tall tree and lifted the chainsaw with one hand, and began to ascend the ladder with the other. He paused for a moment, assessing the branch he would prune. He steadied himself, and with a pull of the cord, started the tool. He flipped the switch to engage the chain, gave it a few revs, and held down the trigger as he engaged the limb. With a thud, it fell to the ground.

He turned his attention to the next branch. As he did, he felt something flutter closely to his ear. He turned his head and the object came into view. Yellow with thin black streaks; a butterfly. He watched, captivated, as the insect flew; winding away from him. A moment passed. Michael quickly shook his head, returning his attention to the task. He moved his eyes back to the branch. Machine engaged, he connected with its target. At that moment, Michael saw the image of the butterfly flash, gripping his attention, a jolt of pain along with it. Again, he shook his head, blinking rapidly to dispel it. It persisted. With increasing intensity, the image commanded his focus. His vision, aside from the image, became a gray colored haze. Michael's stomach sank and chest tightened. What began as the image of the butterfly was followed with a rapid cascade of other ephemeral depictions. Streaks of blood and white flesh filled Michael's mind.

"Yo!" a voice from the outside broke through. Michael snapped back to reality. He began to process where he was taking stock of himself: still strapped to the ladder, amid the foliage of a tree, hands gripping the chainsaw. He smelled smoke, noticing it emerge from the saw along with a small flame. "You good up there?" the voice shouted from below. Michael, still spacey from the occurrence, turned to the voice. "Yeah I'm good, Trev" he exhaled. He descended, jerking the saw out from the half cut branch. As he arrived at the bottom he tossed the chainsaw to the dirt, and turned to engage the man. "You were revving that thing for a while there." Trevor said questioningly. "Yeah, I guess I spaced out." he replied, in honest reflection. Trevor looked at him for a moment with an expression of both curiosity and concern. "I'm good." Michael asserted. "Whatever you say man ... saw looks a little rough, though" Trevor gestured to the still smoldering tool. "Yeah, you're right." Michael replied "that's probably it for me today... thanks for coming anyway." Michael said as he reached into his pocket and handed the young man a twenty dollar bill.

The following day, standing at the sliding glass door, Michael sipped his coffee. He looked out to his yard, where the low angle of the sun began illuminating the day. He put down his mug and walked to his desk calendar. The note under "Sunday" read "5-mile hike 25 pounds of gear".

Arriving at the trailhead, Michael strapped on his pack, locked his car door, and set out on the dirt path. He walked along the trail through the forest at a brisk pace. As he furthered from the trailhead, increasing hills and inclines slowed his stride. As he crested a third hill, he stopped to rest. Michael unclipped his pack and leaned it on a boulder, on top of which he took a seat. As he caught his breath, he took in his surroundings. In front of him was a 2-mile marker. The forest, lit from the sun but shady from the canopy displayed fiery reds and oranges, most prominent was a particular tree with sunshine yellow leaves. He stared at the view. After a moment, his leg began to bounce. His eyes snapped quickly from side to side, nostrils flaring with every, increasingly shallow, breath.

Michael shot up from the boulder and threw his backpack on. He started down the hill, back the way he came. He stormed the next hill as if it were in his way. A familiar sense of dread made his stomach churn. The image of the yellow leafed tree appeared back in his mind. He shook his head. Michael picked up the intensity of his strides, practically stomping his way up the hill. The tree forced its way back into the spotlight of his attention. An aggressive static came with it. Out of touch with his surroundings as he reached the hilltop, a protruding tree root caught Michael's foot. The image of the tree fled as he was thrust back into reality.

Michael opened his eyes and stared at the canopy. He laid on the dirt path for a moment before sitting up, with a groan. He took stock of himself, and attempted to stand. He put his hand down to support himself, planted his foot, winced, and sat back down.

He looked down at the rest of the trail ahead of him. Michael had landed just on the other side of the hill top, inches away from where the slope dropped steeply. He stared wide eyed at this fact, considering what would have been if he had fallen any further. From his viewpoint he could see out to the trailhead where his car was parked, a couple miles away, though a break in the treetops. He let out a groan in frustration; the weight of the situation dawned on him. He remained sitting for some time, contemplating the misfortune of his situation and what had led to it. In a moment of clarity, Michael determined the frustration of his situation was only being made worse by his remaining in it. With that realization, came a drive to action. Michael stood himself up, balancing on his good leg, hand on a tree for stability. He scanned the ground to the sides of the trail, and found a fallen branch. He hobbled over to it, picked it up, and set out on his slow return.

He reached the safety of his vehicle as the sun was beginning to touch the tree line. In the driver's seat, he looked back and up at the hill he had nearly fallen from. He downed a bottle of water before pulling out of the spot and heading back home; as he did, he pulled out his phone and made a call.

Later that week, Michael found himself parked in front of an office building, in front of which hung a sign that read "Dr. Laura Lancing, PhD". He exited the car and, with a limp, he opened the door and stepped inside. He found himself in a room with colorful abstract art, shaggy rugs over the gray floor, and lots of hanging plants. He was greeted by a woman in professional, but colorful, attire.

"Hello! I'm Dr. Lancing. You must be Michael!"

"Uh... that's me!" Michael replied, trying to match her level of enthusiasm.

"It's nice to meet you Michael. I'm glad you decided to make an appointment, after our phone call I think I can help with what's going on... please, come in and have a seat."

Dr. Lancing beckoned to the opposite end of the wide room. Michael followed her lead, choosing to a chair to sit in, instead of the beanbag or floor cushion which were available. As the woman gathered her supplies, Michael observed the unorthodox atmosphere of the office. He concluded it appeared as much a psychologist's office as it did a psychic medium's.

The session lasted over an hour. As it ended, Dr. Lancing and Michael walked toward the door.

"This technique might seem a bit unordinary, but given your situation I think its warranted. You have to address this at its source." Dr. Lancing attempted to justify.

"I was skeptical at first, but everything you were saying strangely made a lot of sense... I'll give it a real try." Michael replied reassuringly.

"That's so good to hear! One more thing, though, Michael. When you're doing it, your emotions can get intense, more so than when the images come normally. If that is the case, stay determined!"

"I'll do that. Thank you Dr. Lancing."

With that, Michael returned home.

It was dark when Michael arrived home. He sat in a comfortable chair, fixed his posture, and inhaled sharply; he closed his eyes and exhaled. Michael attempted to recall what had come to mind in the flashes. Several minutes passed, but nothing came. He took a few deep breaths, as had been recommended, and continued. He recalled to mind the images once again, this time, particularly the color of the butterfly and the tree which had preceded the previous instances. It was hazy and fleeting, but as it gained clarity, the feeling of sinking in his stomach immediately jolted him out of his focus. He recognized this as a sign it was starting to work, took another deep breath, and refocused his attention.

He held the color and all the emotions it brought firmly in his mind. as he did, other images and pain followed suit, as before. Michael's determination and willingness made the dreaded images bearable, as he watched the cascade, he heard sobbing. He gave it his attention, and in a flash, he found himself in a familiar, but forgotten, room. On the floor of the room laid a woman. Michael froze. The woman was still and faced away from him. Despite his inclination to stop, he approached the woman. As he did, an apparition of her sprung from her body. The spirit was cloaked in black smoke, and stared with eyes that pierced Michael. He looked away.

"Jenna." escaped Michael involuntarily.

"Look at me! Look at what happened to me!"

Michael returned his gaze to the body laid on the floor; blood pooled around her.

Michael's thoughts spoke as word to the woman.

"I'm sorry about what happened to you Jenna. If I had known, I would have never left that night."

"It really seems like it! You go on with your life just fine without me!" Jenna screamed. Each sentence she spoke shot dread through Michael.

"That's not true!" Michael replied, increasing his tone.

"You don't think about me unless I force my way into your attention!"

Michael paused, looking at the ghastly form that vaguely resembled his past love. Her words caused him to contemplate who she really was. He felt a sinking feeling, this time, in his heart.

"You're right." Michael stated after a moment.

Jenna stared intensely.

Michael went on, "Its been so painful to think about you... all I've been trying to do is forget... but that is wrong of me. You meant so much to me, I want to remember you."

The spirit glared, questioning his genuineness. Michael pressed on "I mean it, I want to remember you no matter how painful."

The spirit paused, then shouted "Let's see how much you want to remember!"

At that moment a flow of images began. Images of the scene of Jenna's death penetrated Michael's mind, delivering a jolt of pain with each. As the last one passed, the entirety of the scene made itself manifest. The young woman's lifeless body lying on the floor in a puddle of blood. The red liquid trickling out of her nose and mouth. Michael stared at the scene in front of him. The memories of her as he remembered her, and what was before him alternated, from one to the other. He noticed every single difference between the two. Dark bruises obscuring where there were freckles. Elegant brunette hair became caked in crimson.

Michael felt the urge to turn and avoid looking, as he had from such memories before, but he felt guilt for wanting to do so. The words of Dr. Lancing echoed to him. From that, emerged a sense of hope. Determined to see it through, he endured. He gazed upon the corpse, and after a moment, the barrage of emotion began to subside. The black cloaked spirit dissipated, and out of the body of the woman, emerged a glowing yellow one. She appeared as Jenna was before her demise, radiant. Her expression no longer accused Michael, she stood with peace.

"Remember me now?" Jenna said slyly.

Michael smiled at her familiar tone.

"I was stupid to think I could ever forget you."

Michael's ability to focus on Jenna and the dream-like experience dwindled. A moment later, he was back.