The Pink Drink

“Drink this,” she said as she handed him a glass filled with a cold beverage. It was carnation pink and filled with strawberries and cream. He savored the taste, which could only be described as a sweet dream. Moments later, he found himself within a misty forest.

It was spring; bright green buds were everywhere along with mountain azaleas the exact color of the beverage he still held in his hands.

The path he followed wound around the side of the mountain with a view of lichen-covered rocks and all sorts of trees in the distance. Not too far ahead, fog moved slowly along the ground and through the trees to the west. He stood for a moment appreciating the view. Rain began to fall, and he moved from the mountain overlook into the forest to escape the drizzle.

Everything felt quiet, liminal, rejuvenated. Colors were so vibrant. It was as if the world around him pulsed with a secret vitality he was only now discovering. He took another drink as he walked along the sodden path coated in fallen longleaf pine needles.

Memories of the woman who handed him the beverage were gone. In fact, everything he knew before was gone. All he had and all he ever knew and will know was this forest and this drink. He sipped some more. There was a rumble of thunder in the distance.

A wood thrush sang from the trees. He walked towards it, hoping to let the melody wash over him. The rain picked up, and he brought the glass to his lips. As soon as he did, the wood thrush stopped singing. He lowered the cup, and the song started again. He stared into the trees hoping to somehow imprint the song into his being. He tried again to drink and again the song stopped. He sighed and took a long, deep, and regretful swallow. The sweetness still was intense, but it felt a little watered down. The glass was now half-empty, and the pinkness seemed to dim slightly. He looked up as the clouds above grew ever darker, and he felt in his heart the swirling of clouds in the sky. There was a bright flash of lightning and a loud crack of thunder. The wood thrush stopped singing completely.

Feeling like he had just lost the only friend he had ever known, he continued on the forest path unsure of what to do with himself. The wood thrush had spoken and sang truth to him; he just didn’t understand what it meant. Faded memories began to crack through his waking slumber. Another forest, another wood thrush, another time. A wave of possibilities crashed into his awareness that struck him still. He looked around in a sort of awe surprised to find himself in this misty forest surrounded by moss and rocks and tall trees. It felt familiar but also utterly new.

He drank the last of his brew and found himself back in the witch’s hut. It was filled with dried herbs and hanging flowers and smells of the forest. Sunlight poured in from the window. She looked determined if not a little annoyed as she took the glass from him. “Now you just need to live another thousand years to taste it again,” she said.

Suddenly, the light dimmed and the space faded into an abandoned hovel. Everything was covered in cobwebs in dust. The herbs and flowers and the witch herself were all gone. He turned around and left the small structure that now stood in near ruin.

Confused, he began to walk across the nearby meadow and tried to recall everything that had just happened. Like trying to remember a dream after just waking, all he had were bits and pieces that barely fit together. But something about that pink drink stayed on his tongue. A sweet and sour taste at the back of his throat, and it brought him memories of a rainy forest and birdsong and strawberries. He walked on towards thick, dark, and menacing clouds. Towards the life he was doomed to incarnate for a thousand years until he could taste the pink drink again.