Dream #125

The music blared over the speakers as I reached for my stylus, certain of its position because I always kept it in the same place. He has always been so kind, helping me with learning where to put things and setting me at ease over my overly dilated pupils. 

“We match,” he joked as he removed his glasses and allowed me a closer look. 

I’d never felt so close to him except for when we danced. I loved to dance with him because all that mattered was the music and the feeling of our bodies together, two becoming one. 

He encouraged me to read and keep up with my writing as much as ever and massaged my weary legs and feet at the end of each day. Often words were not necessary. 

I could talk freely about how I thought about the others and wondered why they hadn’t clung onto the will to survive. They hadn’t wanted to be here, but I did. I liked being here. 

Silver Posts

It was the day the world was supposed to end according to the Mayan calendar, but my world was just beginning. The snow was crisp on the ground and if I used my imagination, I could hear the carolers in the background. I’d never been able to breathe so clearly on a winter night. My feet were howling in protest of walking on ice in scrappy sandal heels, but I made it to the mall anyway. As I sat on the barstool in the accessories store, I barely felt the ear piercing gun shoot silver balls into my earlobes as I listened to one of my favorite songs playing above our heads. 

Flying Home, Part II

Flying Home

Part II

Emily awoke with a start. She opened her eyes to watch Leigh putter around in the kitchen, cracking eggs and starting coffee. Within a few minutes, delicious smells began to waft through the house. 

“I wish you’d sleep in a bed,” Leigh said. “Don’t tell me you’re not sore.” 

“Nothing a shower won’t fix,” Emily replied as she stood up and stretched. “I’ll be back shortly.” 

“We have to be in the office by eight, so you have forty-five minutes,” Leigh called after her. 

Emily made quick work of getting ready, indulging in a moment to let the hot water soothe her aching muscles. She quickly dried her shoulder length cappuccino colored hair and dabbed on a sparse amount of makeup. Both she and Leigh has inherited their mother’s dark hair and chocolate eyes, making them not require a lot of makeup in order to look completely put together. She slipped into a pair of black pants, a lightweight aqua sweater and black jacket and black three inch heels. Even though she felt unprepared for her day after a short night in the armchair, her image was every inch the professional news writer. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Leigh laughed as she handed Emily a cup of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs. “You can go from looking like you feel terrible to this in half an hour.” 

Leigh was dressed in a similar clothing but took twice as long to prepare herself. 

“Any big stories, I wonder?” Emily took a sip of her coffee, relieved that they had fifteen minutes to spare. “I don’t want to think about my dreams.” 

“Julian.” It was a statement, not a question. 

Emily nodded, not trusting her voice. It was too early to become morose. The day was still ahead of her and she prized it for its distractions. 

The sisters finished their breakfasts before heading out to the car. 

Leigh sighed as she slid into the car. “I forgot my camera bag.” 

Emily laughed. “Forgetfulness must be catching. I left my phone in the house.”

Leigh stared at Emily. “What do you mean, your phone? You’re joking, right? Nobody takes their phones with them, it would be disconnected and not work.” She grinned. “Good one, Em.” 

“No, I’m serious, I had it last night,” Emily insisted. “You asked me if I should call for a ride.” 

Leigh shook her head. “I said we should have called a taxi from the observatory. Phones aren’t something you cart around like a tube of lipstick. I’ll be right back.” 

Emily was growing more perplexed by the moment. “It was a white smartphone. I left it on the table by the door.” 

She raced out of the car and entered the house. There was no smartphone lying on the table. In its place was a rotary telephone, pad and pencil beside it. 
“Okay, that was definitely not here yesterday.” 

The Keeper Of Fireflies

For those who dream and fight the impossible. Thank you. You exist now and forever in your light. 

I spin and swirl while you make the colorful snowflakes fall around me. They float in the air above my head and drift down, down, down until I can catch them on my tongue, sugar sweet and exhilarating. I have come to the forest by the light of a full moon because I know you will be here, pressing the keys that set the music in motion. You beckon me and we walk as though in dreams to a clearing where the fireflies have congregated, so thick that I can’t see either you or myself, just the blurs of light dancing, twirling, singing. The song is familiar and was something I knew from the moment I heard it. The fireflies came to me then and I chased them at once, never looking back. Don’t look back, I ask you with my dance. Go forward forever into the thickness of hope because not everyone was created to be a keeper of fireflies. 

Trading Places

Blog Note: Freedom will return tomorrow. Many questions will be answered as I plan to extend it from ten parts to a little longer. This popped into my head earlier and I wanted to document it before it floated away! I hope you enjoy it.

Now we’re sitting on a panel, critiquing wallpaper and debating the answers to the questions others have put upon us to answer. We were young and houseproud with a thirst to outdo one another. What became of the cooperation we sought? Will we reach a stage where we really won’t care? If we arrive there, will we even be aware that we have changed?