Ice and Dreams

January 11, 2013
By MidniteSwirl BRONZE, Melbourne, Other
MidniteSwirl BRONZE, Melbourne, Other
2 articles 0 photos 5 comments

Favorite Quote:
Without hate there wouldn't be love, and without love there wouldn't be anything. But that doesn't give you permission to go around hating, so please think before you speak :)

The first time he saw her, she was curled up on top of her bed, blankets tangled into a ball by her feet. She was breathing softly, black hair splayed around her head in a spider web of silk.
He stood in the far left corner of the room, half of his face darkened by dancing shadows, blue eyes shining formidably. He'd been staring at her for a long while now, with only the pale moonlight to keep him company - but he knew he couldn't gaze distantly forever. A small, resigned sigh escaped his lips and he silently drew a small, black blade from his side, its silver hilt glinting quite maliciously for such a small object. He took one careful, silent step forward, eyes never leaving her face. Another step. One more and he'd be next to the bed, but instead of continuing he'd frozen, eyes narrowed slightly. It only took a few seconds for him to see what was coming.
A small frown formed on her forehead, one of her fingers twitched. With a small groan, she rolled over and cracked open her eyes.
But by then, the boy was gone.




Ice. I’d always been fascinated by it, but now, as I ran a numbed fingers over my crystallized lips, I wanted nothing more then for it to go away.
I didn’t know where I was – I could see, in a definition unknown to my normally impaired eyes, yet every time I turned around things would blur and I’d forget what lay behind me.
A fountain.
That’s what I could see right now. Nothing else mattered either, as anything aside from the fountain and the night sky was smudged like charcoal on an artist’s canvas. It wasn’t a beautiful feature, not in the slightest; the marbled surface was so dull that even the pale glow of the full moon above me wasn’t seen reflected on it, moss the colour of boiled spinach draped over the moulding rim, the water so murky that one would have to be entirely out of their mind to even think of dipping their hand in. And even if it had been cleaned and pampered, its simple one-tiered design would still remain flat looking; the ugly squashed faces of mermaid spawn decorating the base would still look awful. Yet somehow, I was intrigued.
Lifting a foot, I tried to take a step closer, but found my body moving so slowly that it was as if the air was thick with gelatine. My mind was whirring; what was this fountain for, why did it attract me so, how was it that – despite everything that I had been taught – the desire to explore the unknown was overpowering me so suddenly?
A flash of hot irritation washed through me as I finally took notice that my mind was moving so much faster then my limbs were able to. My cheeks began to burn, whether from the intense coolness of the air or my own frustration I was unsure, but it was a soon as my body began to heat itself that the whispers made themselves known to me.
Cold like the wind, they blew past my ears, gentle and breeze-like as words tumbled along behind them. Words, impossible to understand. I could hear them, but like the sights around me, I wasn’t able to retain what they were telling me.
Again and again, the same words. My head began to pound as anger flushed through me. Why couldn’t I see, why couldn’t I hear, why couldn’t I move?
I twisted my head to the side, the movement surprisingly fast and jerky, sending my heart racing. I glanced down at my hands, each finger numb and purple, curled slightly by my sides. Uncertain, I slowly willed my index finger to move. At first, nothing, but then it jumped up and startled me once more. I was regaining my movement.
“…ice …”
“…ice …”
The whispers were not any louder then before but the throats the came out from had multiplied, the words becoming even more jumbled as they were repeated again and again by more and more voices.
Voices - were they voices?
I couldn’t see those who were chanting them over and over, and that scared me.
“…ice …”
“…ice …”

My eyes flew open. Chest heaving in anticipation, I bolted upright and scanned the room quickly, even going as far as crawling to the edge of my bed to look in the dark places previously hidden to me.
I let out a strangled sigh as it finally dawned on me; it was just a dream.
“Ice,” I breathed slowly, glancing over at the bedside table to read the time; 4:45 am. “Far out.”

The author's comments:
A short story, or excerpt: an idea I had, about dreams.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Oct. 25 2014 at 1:15 pm
EmilytheBelleofA. DIAMOND, Athens, Georgia
81 articles 5 photos 1492 comments

Favorite Quote:
To love is to be vulnerable; Triumph is born out of struggle; We notice shadows most when they stand alone in the midst of overwhelming light.

This is amazing and phenomenal. I found this interesting. I'm so happy, for you! Congrats on this having a editor's choice! I aboslutely, love this and I hope this gets published. This was just wonderfully and interstingly, well-written. I love your idea. Haha, you just gave me inspiration, so I thank you. :) You do have such a talent and greatness and light in you; you are an amazing and wonderful, talented writer and person. Thank you so much, for sharing this, my friend! :)


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