Who is Mel? The grass around Mel’s waist was soft and it tickled her skin. She opened her eyes and she could see her clothes, they looked heavy even, but still, she could feel its light swaying against her back and her abdomen and her calves. She was wearing a navy blue peacoat and tights beneath some sort of itchy woolen pants and big green boots that made her feel like she could never fly again. She looked up to the cloudless sky and the sun looked closer than normal. It beat down red hot on her face. It didn’t make sense that the sun was so hot when her clothes were so heavy. Mel tried to walk through the grass, anywhere, even though all she could see was more grass. She tried to move her feet but the ball-and-chain boots never let them leave the ground. Panicked, she cried out, once, twice, and again. Louder. Once, twice, and again. Louder. Once, twice, and again. Sobs started to rattle through her, reverberating through her chest, through her body. LOUDER! Mel screamed. From a distance she hears a call. “I’m here!” Mel yelled back, “Hello, is someone there? I need help, please!” And she heard the voice again. “I’m here!” “Hello! Please help me! Can you help me? I’m stuck. I can’t see you, where are you?” The voice called again, but this time it was the same voice, twice. “I’m here!” they said. “Who are you? Why can’t I see you?” Mel twisted and turned all around her, but there was no sign of anyone. The voice came back once again, but it came back four times, calling over itself, overlapping. “I’m here!” “Yes, I know! Stop mucking about and help me get out of here!” When Mel stood with her body facing forward, there was a crow standing on the head of a stone statue. Sweat dribbled down the back of her neck where her hair was beginning to stick to it. She stared at the crow for what seems like hours when it opened its beak to squawk. “I’m here!” The blood from Mel’s face drained, leaving her white as a snow. “What?” she said to no one. “What?” She repeated it until it wasn’t a word to her anymore. “What?” After minutes, another crow flew onto the statue, opened its beak and cawed. “I’m here!” Within seconds, a third crow flew and perched itself upon the creepy statue. And a fourth. And a fifth. Mel shut her eyes tight, silently praying that the crows would fly away, or burst into flames. She didn’t care. The sweat on the back of her neck was moving to her face and her palms, her feet, her back. Too many clothes for Mel. Two hours