A figurative language exercise

Finally, I was safe. I savoured the refreshingly cool taste of freedom. The realisation that I could relax, could be myself for a short time, was sweet. I lay back, my aches and pains cushioned by a bed of clover and dandelions. The night reached out a warm hand to stroke my forehead and far above me a multitude of stars winked and flirted.

Damn, I was tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of pretending to be someone I wasn’t. I closed my eyes and tried to let some of the night’s serenity soak in, but as much as my body wanted to sleep, my mind wouldn’t stop whirring. Scenes replayed like old B grade movies. Conversations whispered. But there was no point dwelling on the past. I had to make plans. My very survival depending on me being prepared, being one step ahead. I had to take this moment to decide what to do next.

I looked up and wondered if the wise old moon held the answers I needed. “What should I do?” My whisper floated away and even though I knew it was my own imagination, the answer came back to me.
“Relax. Your body needs the break. You don’t know when you’ll get another opportunity, so take the moment and rest.”

The moon smiled serenely down at me, dressed in gossamer folds of wispy clouds. How could I take advice from someone dressed in their night clothes? I snorted, then fought the urge to giggle, punch drunk with exhaustion. She was right though. I needed to sleep.


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