It is quiet here, peaceful, it is of her own making and Wichita sighs in contentment. This place she has created, a serene beach, soothes her soul as it rests in the realm of that which does not exist. Not in the mortal sense anyway. The waves roll and lap at the sand, kissing it in a forever rhythmic pattern no matter how many times it is sent away. Overhead there are clouds, fluffy things that make shapes of rabbit and deer,  cotton patches against a sky she is sure is blue. Birds call, gulls that swoop against a cliff face that borders the north behind her, tending to their nests in the craggy surface. “Where do we go when we die?” they ask and if she could she would answer them.

“Wherever we want sugar.”

When she tires of beaches she makes meadows, sprawling slopes of emerald green. Patches of clover grow with vigor and she enjoys rolling in the soft green cushions, letting her flaxen hair trace rivers of yellow in stark contrast. Wildflowers litter the ground, their perfume quietly soothing, rich and calming with scents of hope and remembrance. On top of a slope a single tree stands, vines weeping to the earth to sweep their gentle fingers against the ground. Tracing words and reciting whispered conversations both  long since passed and those brand new into her memory- filling the air with a heavy sigh. All that was, all that could have been.

It is hard to be sad here, even though there are so many she left behind too soon. This place knows nothing of broken hearts or the world's cruelty. Time ceases to exist yet a part of her is left behind to thrive, to carry on in place of the flesh that housed her for so long. “Does it hurt?” She could still hear the whispers of mortals as she stood silently by that tree, the sun beating down against the black dapples of her skin, its rays painting her hair with a brightness they both shared.

“It’s like falling asleep chil’.” she whispered against the grains of bark, knowing too well they could not hear her.

amen.