Klara rode her bike down the winding dirt road, dappled sunlight filtering through the forest canopy overhead. The tires kicked up plumes of dust that swirled in her wake. As she reached the hill overlooking the lake and the village, she stood up on the pedals, relishing the swoop in her stomach as gravity hurried her descent. The yellow fields ready for harvest, the wind, and the heat of the sun helped her shrug off stiffness from not sleeping enough.
Leaning her bike outside the village shop, Klara smoothed her windswept hair and headed inside. The dim interior smelled of fresh bread and smoked fish. She gathered the salt, sugar and baking soda for her mother and looked at the comics and the magazines, reading the headlines. Nothing new - the invading alien bug people and the politicians were still in discussions in Paris. Someone had planted a bomb in Leningrad and the Americans were having another reelection.
Exiting the shop with her purchases, Klara spotted Mikael sitting in the passenger seat of his dad's car, parked outside. She walked over to say hello, noticing how tired and pale he looked.
"Rough night?" she asked, touching her nose to hide her mouth.
Mikael nodded, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, but I'm alright now. Everything's...fine."
Images from the previous night's ritual surfaced in Klara's mind - the towering blaze, writhing shadows in the forest, the droning chant that wormed its way into her skull. She suppressed a shudder.
"Well, you deserve a treat after all that. Want an ice cream? My treat," she said, looking back at the shop and pushing the memories away.
Mikael managed a faint grin. "That sounds great."
Klara pinned the laundry to the line behind the house, watching the white sheets billow lightly in the breeze. The mundane chore felt different today. She moved through it with a sense of detachment, like she was going through the motions of someone else's life. Was she really living her own life, what would it be to be free like the swallows chirping just over the treetops?
As she worked, Klara felt an uneasy prickle on the back of her neck, as though unseen eyes watched her every move. She glanced back at the house but saw only closed curtains. It wasn't her family's gaze making her skin crawl. This was something deeper, more innate. So she opende her mouth slightly and flickered her forked tongue, tasting the air. The fresh floral scent of clean linens mingled with ripe apples and moist earthiness from under the house. She sifted
through the sensations, trying to discern the source of this disquiet that seemed to emanate from within.
Closing her eyes, Klara's mind traveled beyond the boundaries of the laundry lines, through the darkened forest, up and over the grassy hill. In her mind's eye, she glimpsed Mikael there, alone among the trees with a hunter's rifle held loosely in his hands.
Abruptly, Klara felt a hand on her shoulder, breaking her concentration. Her vision shattered and she whirled around with a gasp to see her father standing there, brow furrowed. Closing her mouth with a smack, clearly tasting his presence on the tongue, how did she not sense him?
"Daydreaming again?" he asked, though his tone suggested he knew she was doing something more.
"I was just...resting for a moment," Klara murmured, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze.
Her father nodded slowly. "Best not to linger too long in other realms. There are always duties to attend to here." He squeezed her shoulder firmly before heading back inside.
Klara let out a shaky breath, steadying herself against the laundry line. Her heart still hammered from the shock of being pulled so suddenly from her visions. But her father was right - there were always chores still left to be done, a mundane world needing tending.
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