Vortex

Seen head-on, it was nothing remarkable. A sunny field, golden-tinged at twilight and filled with the small sheep of late dandelion. But, when caught by the catlike corner of her eye, the field swirled, tipped, and slowly started to drain. The blades of grass melted like clocks, like a lazy nail polish—applied too liberally—dripping down a finger. It was nauseating. She side-watched the sheep fall in, one two three, then pulled her gaze back to the field before she stumbled, before their pitiful bleats reached her ears. Everything was still once more, the grasses susurrating in a light breeze. The dandelion casually releasing their children to its call. Again, unremarkable.

Saoirse sighed, running long fingers through tight, dampened curls. Was this to be her new normal? Seeing, but not believing? That, at least, was an improvement. Just weeks ago, seeing had been believing. And this had almost destroyed her. Her brain had split down the middle, one half screeching that yes those shadows are real, the other pleading with her to trust your friends when they say they are not. But now? Now she knew, logically, that her eyes were not to be trusted. That the link between light and eye and brain had somehow shattered, but would be mended in time. She just had to wait.

But waiting was hard, and Saoirse was tired of hard things. She placed one sure foot on the grass, then another, stalking towards the center of the vortex. She stared it down, commanding it to remain still, to remain all grass and flower and busy bumblebee. 

At first, it held.

Then, with a slow slurp, her right foot caught in the center, and Something sucked her through.

*
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The late sun glanced off the goldenrod and dandelion fluff and a pair of butterfly wings, and something less than a ripple padded through the tall grass. Unremarkable again.

~~~
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[Inspiration]