Daisy chain

I was still wearing the daisy chain, and somehow I knew that when it broke I would too. But days in the sun had dried the stems until they were stiff and brittle. We did not have long left. Unless I lay down in the mud to be preserved, we would be separated soon – and the mud had dried too. As we picked our way along the crag I felt my foot twist and my body lurch. No sooner did I know I was falling than I felt myself caught: the daisy chain stretched between a jut of rock and my burned neck, seeming to grow stronger by its straining.