A late dream,
Don’t I know what to expect!
The storm must have woken me,
And you, dear angel,
Are still fast asleep…
Yet I know: the Enemy and his minions strike before dawn,
Hiding their hideous shapes
Behind the windows’ frames…
I wrap myself in your gown,
And swear at them.
Picture: from this fantastic site: http://darkdreams.centerblog.net/1396-les-nagas
The small stream is known to local children, and to the occasional wanderers. For us, I know, it has meaning, one of the places where our spirits shall meet, and remember the past. We once ran over those rocks, splashing each other, in the bright light of Spring. Then, we were happy, we were young, and little did we know about the fate that awaited us. I recall your blond hair, flying in the wind, your little blue dress, your bare feet that seemed to fly over the water.
I remember the day I left, for those far away shores, I remember the sand in the desert, death at every step. I – or rather the poor ghost I became – remember the day I died, alone in a narrow street, in a faraway alien city. I remember not finding you, anywhere, until I visited the small churchyard, not too far from our stream. And now, every Spring, I come here and wait for you. I have time, I have all eternity. I know you will not remain hidden forever.
Dedicated to those who left, and never came back.
“Beyond those hills is our home”, he said softly to her ear, as they looked down the valley, toward the estuary. There the town was cradled, a thin glimmer of light against the darkness.
She shivered a little, but not from cold. She thought again of the place, the wild garden, the old walls. No-one had been there for ages. She could already hear the front door creak. Who would notice their return?
“I will look on as you fall asleep, I will wait for as long as it takes.” His voice so low only her could hear his words. She smiled, of course he will look after her, as he had done for all those years, as they roamed the world, away, so far away from home.
“We haven’t been near humans for a while…” she said, as she leaned against him.
“I know,” he replied softly, “we just hear them, they ignore us and will continue to ignore us. For them we are a flutter of fine dust, a tiny vortex in the air…”
We love the long walks, along the shore, the closeness of the sea, the flying birds, the wet land and the immense skies. I watch your steps, the wind blowing your hair, I see you as one with the earth, the waves, the clouds.
I know we will be tired at the end of the day, and yet, we stop and watch: the reeds spelling their ancient story, the cries of seagulls, the bright colours of sand poppies.
For we know: once, long ago, we came from the sea, and our footprints in the wet sand just remind us of that long love story.
“This is exactly how I remembered the mausoleum,” she told him, as they crossed the immaculate lawn. “The trees are a lot taller… so many years have passed since our parents used to come here with us kids…”
“I no longer know whose statue it is,” replied her brother, “I just know we liked running around it, pretending that above the steps we were safe from the monsters, down in the woods!”
“You can see, the park is a lot smaller than in our memories! Then, we imagined all sorts of creatures living in the deep jungle, beyond our sanctuary…”
“… And now, now we know that there is no amazing creature, just us, and the birds, perhaps even a few squirrels!”
They smiled at each other, a very old couple revisiting their childhood.
We walk, hand in hand, to the shore,
up to the small promontory, and we see our island:
it is cold today, but we don’t feel it.
Our bare feet slide over the rock,
Your empty eyes turn toward me, my love,
asking me, in silence,
if I am ready to start our voyage.
I smile, my frozen heart reaching yours,
for I know we belong there,
you and me, for ever, under the heavy stone,
below the chapel,
where once, long ago,
they burned us at the stake.
Acknowledgement lucastorquato27.deviantart.com
I wasn’t at my best, hot, bothered, coughing, feeling sick. But that’s the time she chose. We hadn’t had a real talk, the way she wants, for a while. Evidently, I had been working, making progress, trying to move forward, damn.
The shimmer around her was an omen of what was to follow: the bitter complaints of a very dissatisfied lady, or rather ladies, since she was wearing all their faces, at once. I could tell she was furious.
“You have been at it again,” she said, as I was trying to focus on her shape in darkness, almost frightened, “yes, don’t play the innocent, it ain’t working, Monsieur le littérateur, de mes fesses, you are! First you set me on with a couple of robotic morons, and in uniform, just showing what a lamentable case I am, in your words, Sir!”
What the heck was she talking about now… It must be about the story, the girl… “Yes,” she resumed, pointing a vengeful finger at me, “You know perfectly well what I am talking about. No respect for anything. The last thing I know I am described, hopeless, as a sort of female predator, but, just a minute, not only that, an immoral kinda despicable spy. Yes Sir, no denying please! And once again, no discussion, no consultation with me: to hell with your feelings, girl!!”
I was speechless, which was probably best. I urgently needed the loo, but she was in the way, less than a meter from the bed. I had a sweat.
“Besides, you are now setting me up, again, as a complete idiot, a kinda pussy cat, ready to roll over for that distinguished, and rich, of course, lady. I assume you modelled her on your wife! YOU are, Sir, the despicable character in this story…”
There was a pause. Her shape was getting a little vaguer, was she going? Bad luck, she must have been thinking.
“Just one word of warning: don’t, just don’t set me up to become her lover! This is not me, I am not like that! I…”
I risked a word, to my peril,
“You mean, you don’t like women?”
“You, innocent you, you know perfectly well this is not what I mean, I am a human being, I have feelings, I let you know! I am not someone you, or that slut, can pick up in a club, and then pack up like, like…”
“This is not what I…”
“Shut up! You don’t even know what you’re doing. You use creatures like me as if they were your slaves, no respect, no real understanding, is this what you call writing?”
Another pause. I was by then desperate, but she gave no signs of wanting to move on.
“I am not going to have this. Not again. You never put things right. You start something, you don’t finish. And I, am the victim! I had enough!”
I attempted conciliation.
“I’ll rewrite those scenes. You know what work in progress is, don’t you?”
She was laughing, how beautiful she was in her anger…
“I despair. Your punishment will be your own readers, I mean the few who risk approaching that… well, pretend story! I am going home, where you cannot touch me!”
I felt confused, abused, abandoned. As she disappeared I could hear her laughter down the dark corridors of my imagination. I was alone, morning was still far away…
Image: Warrior Angel – 23-06-12 by Lucastorquato27 on DeviantArt
This is the place we have chosen,
The haven of our declining years –
For there we will await the start of
our voyage, beyond the beloved sky of our world.
There we will remember other journeys,
other skies, and celebrate
the enduring treasure
of our love.
Inspired by the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing prompt #103
Still in the black,
dawn not so far away,
the last dream hoists its sail –
and, I, forever the jester
the fuse of your nights,
the white noise of your world…
Picture: Charles Baudelaire by Felix Nadar, 1855, via afrouiafroui.tumblr.com
Inspired by Sue Vincent’s #writephoto prompt
Mist has invaded the valley below, a diffused light veils the details of the landscape. But where am I? Where is this cliff? Is it day break, or dusk? Should I know this place, how did I get here, and how long have I been here, watching how many sunrises?
Finally, the real question arises from the clouds my mind appears to be surrounded with: where are you? The silence is total, this may not be my world, but what is it? Have I lost you, forever? A deep desperation creeps into my soul…
Close to me something, someone, stirs. So, I may not be alone?
“Another nightmare my darling,” you are saying, in the calm voice that always settles my fear, “You’re too hot, I’ll get you some water, and make coffee. You know it’s these drugs, a side effect, soon you’ll cope without them… And, by the way, I am here, you are not alone!”
