Saturday, June 27, 2015

A small bit of writing that I wrote back in sixth grade after an odd dream :) These kinds of imaginings come and go. Seldom am I dreaming that I'm asleep, though. (Inception) Anyway, without further ado, here is the story. :D




I feel cold.
Not cold enough to voice a complaint, but just cold enough to shiver. Even if I tried to speak, this strange tug in the back of my throat denies me the choice to do so. So I simply lay on the the firm, chilled floor.
It feels like stone. I feel like stone. My limbs feel as though they're merged to my torso. My vocal cords lack the ability to communicate. Believe me, I've tried for what seems like a lifetime.
I rest in this place, my heart yearning to see light. I long to have the ephoric rays part my eyelids and drink in the sights ofthe world around me, but alas I cannot.
Soft sobbing echos in the medium of damp air. It resounds from what sounds like a rather open area. The sobs are delicate and feminine, like the siren song of a mockingbird remorsing over the corpses of her departed chicks.
Often times the source of the sobbing would approach me when the pitter patter of rain fell on the outside. Graceful, petite hands would brush strands of hair from my face. On other occasions, a stray hand would grasp my lame palm and squeeze lightly. I felt sorrow intermigling with hope radiate from the source, a woman I assume. A very contridictary mix of feelings.
Sometimes, her weeping would cease.  Like a wisp, she would float over with scarcely a sound to my side. She would snake her arms around my neck and prop me upon a softer, warmer surface. When she was doing this, often would she hum the most beautiful of melodies with a voice that shimmered with elegance and tenderness.
Behind the darkness of my eyelids, I would watch her, wistful to inform her of just how lovely she was. My ears perked and tuned my attention to that lucious, beautiful voice. I tried, once, to tell her. I knew it would be to no avail, but I wanted to at least try. But, to my misfortune, all that escaped me was a soft exhale.
On the nights when fortune favored me, she would curl up beside me, a move both brazen and benevolent considering the things I have done. Her gentle breath lulled me to the eternal rest of awarness that I appear to be condemned to. Soft curls tickled my cheeks, but I wished not to blow them away even if I could.
Sometimes, when she awoke, she would regard my sleeping form as though I was concsious. Then realization would wash over her, and her breath would become broken and uneven. She would unsheathe only what I can deduct as a blade and walk away.
I would eagerly await her return during that time. Sometimes I would try to remember what I was doing before I came into this vegatative state. More times than not, I wanted to think of who I was. All I truly remember was that I was feared by many, yet known by few.
When the young woman would return, she would feed me. My gratitude was much, though it was not audibly acknowladged. Typically, she would bring some form of vegatation. It slid down my unresponsive throat easily enough, though it would sting ever so slightly. Every so often, she would feed me an poignant tasting herb. My nose would twitch and wrinkle subconsiouly at the overwhelming aroma.
She would apologize when she brought me it. She would explain that it was to help me escape this hold over my body. And her voice when she spoke... Her tongue was laden in a rich accent foreign to me. I do not quite recall such an accent being heard by my ears ever, and yet I obviously must have known this woman. Yet, If I cannot remember the past, then perhaps I speak out of bewilderment due to my condition rather than true recollection.
And while I was wondering, my mind would disregard the water that cooled my throat and soothed the passing of the herb. It washed away the vile flavor and sent a slightly fresher undertone of taste to my tongue.
Some nights she would beseech to me, begging me in a rather piteous and heart-wrenching tone to wake. Her voice would erupt into sobs, and I even felt at times a sharp sting across my face. Sometimes she would repeat the action,the sounds of livid palms making fast contact with my cheek would echo abruptly and break the silence of the room. Her face would bury in the crook of my neck, and I would try with all my mght to apologize, to wake.

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