10. Alive"Vylinea?"She snapped out of her daydream as they came to a halt, and raised her head. All she could do, was let out a small, breathy, 'Yes' in response.Her friend moved her hand off her forearm and walked over to the dusty throne, where a figure sat."This, is my mother."And in a few moments of silence, the images seeped into her skin, as she took in the murmured fact. "I've..."She struggled, with her words, then, "I've seen her, before." She stated, before she turned her gaze towards her, next to the throne, silently asking how."In a few of your dreams, the ones you told me about?" Remnine's hand, ran over her mothers hair, gently, as she sat motionlessly, eyes shut and hands folded in her lap, a calm, serene smile gracing her features."She's what's keeping this world alive.""Rem-...-nine?" Feeling more lost than she had for a while, Vylinea could hardly move her feet, barely managing half a step."I know." now looking straight back at her, she let go of the chair, and started
9. Anew"I'm dreaming."It was a question, just like the others prior, answering itself in every way, but she was answered regardless, with a slight tilt of the others head."...that's not, exactly, right though, is it?" Somehow the lack of response for every question posed had sufficed, so far.Then, "No, I'm afraid not." She was answered with a curious look, and presented with a question of her own. "What makes you think you're dreaming?""It's not every day I seem to be standing on air in a pitch black...space."An amused smile.She frowned. "And please do tell," she shifted, crossing her arms, a slight change in her tone, "how is this, not, a dream, exactly?""It is mine."Silence. Confusion. Realisation.With a sarcastic-twinge, "Right.""I have to admit, you're an odd one."Surprise washed over her features, somehow distrust was marking itself within her. "How? Why?""You, are probably thinking I meant your behaviour so far, that is not the case. There is, something. What makes it so unc
DialysisThere are some thingsshe can't describein poetic inscriptions.Likethe voiceleaving her throattuning inand outwith emotion.Butterfly trailsbeneath her eyes,the excruciatingtransformation ofsensation into sense.Hands tremblingwith sleeping frustration.The pitter-patterof needles againstthe back of her neck.The contrastingwarmth of her torsoto herchilled-to-the-bonehands.As she tapsa pattern intoher every-day keys,into theblank void of space,the colours flood through,creating the imagesthat will once again be lostas the last words are spoken.
Facade"So,"A slight nod,"Are you going to make this your own choice?"The girl I spoke to leaned forward, towards me, now at eye level.I handed her a small flower.Black and White.And then added, as she stayed silent,"Oh, and~ pushing the self-destruct button doesn't count!"
ContinuityShe was running, and dodging, people who were in her way. Trying to follow the almost translucent figure of a girl, who was walking briskly forward, through the crowd, her image flashing in and out of existence.She was aware, she'd never catch up. Within seconds, with her hand outstretched, the girl was gone. The crowd was no longer pushing against her, the movements no longer like lights travelling through water, and tears.She stood blankly for a moment.Startling into wakefulness, she realised her companion was shaking her shoulder, and vaguely heard something along the lines of:"Are you ok?"A confirmation given.She started to follow her friend, moving back onto the mundane task of shopping. But that ethereal quality, the aspect of where she was, wouldn't leave her bones.The girl was forgotten.And at that moment, she realised, she was alone.And only then, did it sink in, that where she was, was in fact, beautiful.A strange mix, of cream, silver, and gold. Walls weaving
Lack of MeaningFingers trail,delicatelytracing over letterswhichengrave upon her skin.The letters flyfrompaper.Flowing between her handsdancing, weavinginto a non-existentreality.
DisperseThe warmth and the chillareall too friendly.A hand liftedto cover her face,shieldit from anything that could possiblyenter her vision.In times of warmth, and bitter-coldsensations arelost.As blank eyes stare abovethrough the ceiling.Glazed over, anddrifting.And she wonders againwaving her hand in the air,thenlet's it falllimp.whereon eartham I
8. GraspPaper's falling.Folded into white droplets,Scattering across the room."How much time are you planning on wasting here?"She turned to see him leaning against the door, accompanied by a droll expression."What I'm doing is not a waste of time." She snapped, and then gently waved away the papers she didn't need, and they moved fluttering away.Another frown. "Can't complain."Then with a resigned shrug of his shoulders, "Who's piece are you looking for?"She twisted back around, said pieces flying in the same direction with the force of the movement.And with a melancholy smile."Yours."