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The First Dream
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| (Just felt the urge to write this... at oh... three 'o'
clock in the morning.) |
| The room she was standing in was
dark, save for a single sconce lit by the bed. She couldn't see the floor
from where she was, covered by all the shadows. The shadows danced around
the bed lazily, as if beckoning her closer to them with their movements.
The only thing she could hear was the uneven pounding over her heart as
she forced one foot forward, and the the other. Her fists clenched
together and even before she looked down she knew they would be white. But
when she looked down, she saw nothing but darkness. Her legs continued to
push forward without her thinking and the bed seemed to rise up before her
eyes, changing shape as well. The blood red sheets that hung over the side
of the bed melted into the bed and turned stone gray. The bed seemed to
narrow, but she attributed that to a trick of the light. At first glance
the bed didn't seem to have changed at all, but when she looked again it
distinctly looked like a sarcophagus. She opened her mouth to exclaim in
surprise, but no words came out. |
| She didn't seem to gain any distance
on the bed, but in the back of her mind she knew that she would find him
on top of the bed at the very end of it all. The shadows seemed to
dance with more intensity out of the corner of her eye, but she couldn't
force her head to move and actually look. She could do nothing but stare
at the bed as it loomed towards her. |
| From what she could tell, she was
getting closer to the bed. A dangerous looking gleam caught her attention,
coming from behind the bed and the sconce suddenly died, plunging her
vision into nothingness. Walking along in the darkness, she could feel the
floor suddenly slant upwards; she had to climb towards the bed. That gleam
appeared again and all she could do was follow it. The climb was not easy;
she kept tripping and sliding down. The gleam that served to light her way
only got more intense as she kept moving. She couldn't even see the bed
anymore, that light was the only thing in her vision. |
| The ground finally flattened out and
she felt something cold thrust at her, follow by the feeling of something
wet, and warm. A light seemed to come where somewhere, perhaps from within
her, and when she looked down she saw a double edged dagger in her hands.
Her right palm was cut open and blood flowed freely though she felt
nothing. Blood flowed as she stared stupidly at it, watching waves of
scarlet cascade over the handle of the dagger, where a raven in mid-flight
was carved upon it. As the blood coursed over the carving of the raven,
she let go of the dagger. The eyes of the raven shone darkly, and it let
out a screech loud enough to wake the dead. She wanted to cringe and curl
up but she could do nothing to move. The raven then fell silent, and its
eyes became dull again. The dagger was back in her hands, and as she ran
her fingers over the carving of the raven, she would still feel its
warmth. Her palm had stopped bleeding. |
| She looked up from the dagger and saw
a trail of blood leading towards the bed, and watched as it turned into a
lush red carpet. She followed the carpet and when she looked at the bed,
she could see a form on top of it. For the moment, it was covered in
white, and the room spun around her, whirling about so fast that rays of
light came from everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. She clutched
her head and closed her eyes, but the light seemed to seep into her
eyelids and flood her head still. When she opened her eyes, the entire
room was white. Everything was white, except for that carpet. It had
turned back into a trail of blood, except now the trail became a river,
living and flowing along. |
| The figure atop the bed stirred, and
even as she drew closer to the bed and stepped into the river of red, the
bed widened yet again, but she could barely notice. Her hands clench and
she remembered the dagger in her possession. |
| She was standing beside the bed now,
and beside the figure. She could hear her own ragged breathing loudly
inside her head, and for a moment she caught her breath. not wanting to
wake him up. She couldn't see his face, but she saw his stringy hair
framed delicately around his wrinkled, venous neck. The starched white
blankets wrapped about his long narrow form pulled back and exposed even
more of his neck. She leaned in closer, her hand tightening on the blade
of the dagger as she raised it up. |
| She brought the dagger down slowly...
tracing the blade along the sheets, outlining his form. Again, the figure
shifted in the bed, and her fingers clenched harder on the blade as she
brought it to his throat. |
| It was slicing a freshly baked apple
pie. |
| The blade cut clearly and neatly
across his neck, and she just watched as the blood slowly poked its way
out of the cut, and then gushed onto the floor, mingling with the river of
blood that she was already standing in. She stepped back to take a look at
her own work, as the blood ran over the sheets, and suddenly the figure
arched his back, and a hideous wail came from it. |
| She brought the dagger down upon the
body over, and over, and over, watching almost greedily as the blood
consumed the sheets, turning the once pure white into a sickening and
deadly red. The figure continued to wail through all this, but she
couldn't hear it anymore. In fact, she couldn't even hear the wail die,
and then slowly fade into the walls. Everywhere was red. All she could see
was red. She looked at her hands, and they were covered in blood. Her
whole body was covered in blood, and for a moment she left herself and
just stared at the girl that stood in the room. |
| The girl had flaming red hair, though
with the rest of the red in the room she seemed to blend right in. She was
wearing a white robe, and there was blood smeared all over the front of
the robe, and blood creeping up from the bottom, as well as from the
sleeves. She was staring at her hands, and the expression on her face was
one of pure malice. The dagger dropped from her grip and it feel slowly,
blade first into the growing sea of crimson. The minute the blade touched
it, a massive gust of wind erupted from that very spot. |
| The bed was gone, and the blood
whipped into her face, but she kept that expression there. The raven on
the handle had grown, and now free from its carved stance, it spread its
wings and cackled. It looked straight at the girl in the room with a
strange gleam in its eyes and it opened its mouth again... |
| Pascal woke up quite abruptly, sitting up in bed. She
was covered in a cold sweat and was breathing heavily. Looking around, she
saw nothing but her sleeping roommates and her dorm room. She rubbed her
hands together and seemed relieved that her hands were dry, and uncoloured. |
