To Sleep...Perchance To Dream?

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It's sheer, unadulterated beauty that lies before me. The grass under my bare feet is warmed by the sun and as soft as silk velvet. Kneeling on it, and running my hands over it is like petting my mother's old ballgown. The color, too, is similar. That dark emerald green I always loved so. Overhead, the sky is a clear, turquoise blue with perfect white clouds drifting by. I can't believe how lovely this place is. Tall oaks stand in a circle around this clearing, and a clean, sparkling brook runs through it. When I walk to the stream, I can actually hear it laughing. Laughing! The way my mother always said that clean streams sounded, and it does. I can't help but laugh in delight myself. A stand of wild roses catch my attention, and when I approach, the scent is sweet, almost cloying with the thickness, but pleasant to breathe in. Touching the petals is like stroking warm silk. I have to smile, and when I look up, my breath catches in my throat. There he is. *****************************************

" How long will she be like this?" He turned to the doctor, who shrugged. " As long as she can't wake up. The swelling has receded. I believe the only thing holding her in a coma is her own mind." He nodded, turning away from the man in the green scrubs, and focused his eyes back through the ICU window at the still form laying on the bed, surrounded by machines.

********************************************

Every dream I had as a child, every game played in the trees around my home, all focused on finding him. His pale blue eyes gaze at me as we stand deathly still, him still in the shadow of one of the oaks, me bathed in sunlight. He seems to be my opposite, with pale gold hair and those light blue eyes, compared to my dark brown curls and hazel eyes. I can't move, held by his gaze, and if I could I wouldn't do anything but run to him. My faerie prince, after so long. I dreamt and agonized over him and to find him here....my heart soars. He smiles, and it is a cruel smile, cold and unfeeling as he steps around the rosebush and towards me. Still unable to move, all I can do is watch as he reaches for me. His hand is not the warm, gentle touch I dreamt, but cold and firm as he pulls me to him. I would cry, at this change of dream, but I cannot. His eyes never change, even as his grip tightens on my arm, and his free hand grasps my throat. A tear wells and runs down my cheek as I watch his face change from the man I loved secretly...to the man who hurt me. His long, cold fingers tighten, and I can feel my breath begin to seize in my throat.

**********************************************************

He jerked awake in surprise, having slumped in the chair pulled to her bedside. The machines were beeping, and her lips were now a bluish tinge. The icy hand of panic overtook him, and he leapt to his feet. " Nurse! Nurse! Help!" The woman bolted in, pushing him roughly aside, and then ran back to the hall. " Code Blue! Code Blue! Get Dr. Hammond!" She looked at him even as she tore the blankets away. " Sir, please wait outside!" He was shoved into the wall as doctors and nurses streamed into the normally peaceful room. Bustling, frantic activity broke out, and he could do nothing but watch in horror.

**************************************************

He squeezes, and I can't even struggle. All I can do is watch the black spots dance in front of my eyes, as they dance across the image of his face, his icy eyes, now a cold grey. Unfeeling, expressionless, he intensifies the pressure on my throat and I choke. I can hear my desperation for air in a choked rattle. Soft, welcoming darkness blooms in front of my eyes and I sink into it gratefully, hoping only for a release from the pain.

******************************************************

He watched, unsure of what anyone was doing. His knuckles were white on the windowsill as the scene unfolded before his eyes. Hope flared, that she might fight, awaken, and live. The hope gave light to his eyes, and he straightened. Then, a sound came to his ears, and he felt his knees grow weak. " Bleep.....bleep.....bleep......beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep."

-- Angel (keita@my.sanguinus.com), August 05, 2002

Answers

I love your style... it's really nice.

-- Kant (kant@kant.com), September 22, 2002.

wow. fight, awaken, and live. art is in the eye of the beholder. I am the beholder. This is a work of art.

-- sabrina (ariadnecm@cox-internet.com), November 09, 2002.

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