Without a Trace of Viridian

Content warning: descriptions of death and decomposition.

Forest was the shade of green in Chloe Irvine’s irises; speckled with vibrant gold and outlined with rich emerald. They glittered in the sunlight, accented by her melodious laughter. Her stunning smile revealed her naturally white teeth, perfectly straightened as a result of having braces for a year during her adolescence. Freckles danced across her cheeks, adding another layer of beauty and innocence to her face.

Lime green was the stretchy knit of her hair scrunchie, striped with white as it twisted around her long, honey-brown waves, securing them in a high ponytail at the top of her head. A few curls hung down by her ears, too short to be held captive by the hair tie. In the summer, she often let her hair flow freely, especially if she were to spend a day at Greenwood Lake, clad in her seafoam green bikini.

Mint was the cotton of her sundress, patterned with white daisies, which clung to her slim waist and supple hips, cutting off just above her knees. The square neckline provided modesty, adorned with ruffled straps that rested perfectly on Chloe’s shoulders. It contrasted beautifully against her ivory skin, drawing attention to the birth mark that settled on her left shoulder.

Green tea was the gabardine straps of her heels, secured to beige, wooden wedges that hardly left her feet. They were her go-to shoes come spring and summertime, granting her an extra three inches of height for when she went on dates. She’d been wearing heels for so many years that she walked just as smoothly in them as she did in sneakers or boots, if not more so.

Shamrock was the metallic body the Ford F-150 that belonged to Chloe’s boyfriend, Blake Mustonen. The brunette had always had a soft spot for pick-up trucks, and if she were being honest, it was one of the factors that first attracted her to Blake. His nonchalant attitude in tandem with his shaggy black tresses and crooked, cocky smirk did the girl in, and she was wrapped around his tanned finger. Everyone in their small town of Villaverde had warned Chloe away from the delinquent, regaling her with tales of the hours he’d spent in detention and suspension during his high school years for keeping weapons in his locker or setting his chemistry lab on fire. Chloe’s mother was particularly fearful of her intense attraction to the town troublemaker, but the brunette would heed none of it.

Pine surrounded the clearing in the forest; a secluded picnic spot where Blake had taken Chloe on their first date, hidden away from hiking trails and paths that led to Greenwood Lake by a shroud of fir, pine, and oak trees towering so high that one could hardly see the sky above. Many feared the vast unknown of the woods on the edge of Villaverde, but the brunette had always adored the wildlife and foliage of the forest. It had always been her source of peace when the life of a teenager and, now, young adult became too chaotic to handle at home, filling her with a sense of serenity as she lost herself in the scent of tree bark and wildflowers.

Jade was the stone that crafted the handle of Blake’s bowie knife, nestled safely in its holster that tucked into his belt, resting against his left hip. Chloe was completely unaware of its existence, though it wouldn’t surprise her to find out; she was, after all, attracted to Blake primarily for his delinquent tendencies. Said knife had been one of the many causes of Blake’s detention sentence, not that he attended a single one. He’d always managed to skip them, and when he was finally suspended for refusing to adhere to the school’s rules, he simply stopped attending. Chloe, thankfully, had met him shortly after graduating, so he wasn’t around to negatively influence her education.

Olive green was the cotton of Sheriff Holt’s uniform, flat and smooth against his muscular build. The slightest wrinkles could be seen where his short-sleeve button-up was tucked into his pants, secured in place by a black leather belt. His boots crunched against fallen twigs and stray pinecones as he and his deputies canvased the forest on the edge of Villaverde; the last place that Chloe Irvine had been seen alive.

Moss coated large rocks and tree stumps deep in the heart of the forest, giving life to clusters of rosy slimespike and chanterelle mushrooms. Along the forest floor lay dead trunks of fallen oak trees, sprouting new life in the form of bearded tooth and coral tooth fungi. What caught Sheriff Holt’s eye, however, was a patch of flat, thin, white mushrooms that appeared to grow inside one another, germinating not on moss or trees but rather directly from the dirt. He didn’t know much about the nearby plant life, but he recalled from his high school science class that this particular mushroom was called the ghost fungus.

Sulfhemoglobin was evident on Chloe Irvine’s remains when they had been unearthed from beneath the ghost fungi, revealing that she had been decomposing for at least eighteen hours. Her mint green sundress, though still intact, was smeared with dirt and stained with blood which had poured from several stab wounds present along her corpse. Her honey-brown locks were strewn across her face and neck, tangling around flies and maggots as they infested her haphazard grave.

Pastel green carnations and hydrangeas made up the bouquet that Chloe’s mother intended to leave at her grave site after her funeral, after watching her casket be gently lowered into the freshly dug dirt and grass. Tears poured from her hazel eyes, soaking her cheeks and dripping down onto the lace overlay of her black dress. She lifted a hand in a futile attempt to wipe the wetness from her face, her loose bracelet catching in the sunlight.

Turquoise beads separated by slips of silver adorned the band around her wrist; the last birthday gift she would ever receive from her daughter. Chloe’s mother waited for her relatives and friends to dissipate, accepting sorrowful hugs and whispered condolences. When she was the one and only visitor at her daughter’s tomb, she knelt down on the soft dirt and ran her hand across the plaque. She gently place the green bouquet down before her daughter’s headstone, whispering her final farewell.