Dream, a Life fanfic - FictionPress.com

A/N: erm, well, it was for an english class last year...i think. it's really rather random for most of it, but it was inspired by all of the first minute or so of the Red Hot Chilli Pepper's song "Venice Queen," which is a really cool song...and, yeah. tell me what ya think, if you want.

Dream

I’m running. My arms and legs whirl in a windmill of limbs; my heart pounds, my lungs labor to draw in the air that‘s rushing by me. It strikes me, suddenly, that I don’t know what I’m running from. I slow minimally to allow my head to swivel and look behind me; nothing’s there but the wind rustling the tall grass at my back, and the early morning sun dawning the horizon. It’s so wonderful to be running again, living again, that I plow on, forcing my way through the thigh-length grasses that slice me as I push by. I tilt my head to let the air push away a few strands of black hair that escape my ponytail. A piece that refuses to be pushed back forces me to squint my eyes in order to avoid having them switched by the stubborn lock.

I find myself running through a forest of pine trees. They’re ancient trees, tall and wide with branches reaching in all directions, allowing only a little bit of the midday sun to filter through. Their roots appear out of nowhere over the packed soil, causing me to stumble. My legs propel me as I shoulder my way through whip-like branches, my feet lifting me in almost-jumping strides to avoid the roots below. I close my eyes to avoid the shower of pine needles raining down on me.

The pine trees are gone, and I’m running on dehydrated, cracked ground. Dying shrubs loom up in my range of vision; I hurtle over them like the athletes I’ve seen on TV. I hear the wind rustling the dead tumbleweeds behind me, and I quicken my pace, dodging the low limb of a cactus here, sprinting faster when I can. The sun starts dipping below the horizon in front of me; I close my eyes to avoid the brilliant, red-gold glare.

I open them again to find myself on top of a vibrantly green, grassy hill. Instead of slowing as I should, I widen my stride to accommodate the steep angle. I almost fall forward, but momentum pushes my legs back under me as I reach the bottom and the slope begins to level out. I marvel in the wonder of it all, the feeling of being placed precariously on a ledge, daring gravity to pull me down; it’s something I haven’t done in too long. A river appears in my range of vision suddenly, and I can see bats dipping and soaring over it in the quickly fading twilight. I can still hear the wind behind me, rustling the leaves of a solitary oak tree. Barely thinking, I run faster, not hesitating as I near the edge. I look down, watching my feet skim the water, marveling in the wonderful, unnamed sensations. I close my eyes, afraid that if I look any longer, the miracle will disappear like a balloon floating towards the heavens.

A faint, unfamiliar noise makes me open my eyes again. I’m back on solid ground, my feet pounding in the dust as the sound gets louder and louder, decibel by decibel. I’m running on a packed, dry track with farmer’s sown plains stretching out on either side of me, the tilled, rich earth going until it disappears into a horizon of inky blackness. A full moon lights my way as I approach a large speck on the horizon. The speck nears, slowly becoming a misshapen shape ever approaching. The wind howls behind me, and I run even faster; I’m almost flying now. The sound, I realize, is cheering. It’s people cheering. A large, blank banner stretches across two twin poles dividing a large group of people on either side of the path. They cheer louder, shouting encouragement, watching the wind get closer to me in a last effort to catch up. I run under the banner before it can, and it howls in good-natured disappointment, making the banner flap wildly, and the wooden poles bend slightly in a playful manner.

I’m carried along through the throng of people, all cheering me, all calling my name in one chanting, triumphant voice. I find myself swept into a pair of strong, wiry arms; I look up into the face of my father. “Darling, you did it! You beat the wind!” he yells over the cacophony, beaming at me. He passes me along into another, softer pair of arms. A face I dimly recall grins down at me in a smile matching my father’s in pride. Her eyes, I suddenly realize, are my eyes. The noise around us dims to a dull pounding. “We’re so proud of you, sweetheart, you’re father and I. You’ve made us so proud,” my mother whispers in my ear. I smile back at her, so happy to see her after all the years since she passed away. Then everything swirls and fades to become droplets of quicksilver in the inky sky. I close my eyes and let myself fade with them.

A portly doctor dressed in severe white sits in a chair next to a hospital bed in a starkly neat, white-walled room. He searches for the pulse of the small, dark-haired girl who lies quietly in the middle of the bed. A small, square window on one side of the room lets the meager light of the stars spill through, the only light on this moonless night. He shakes his head at the young blonde nurse standing beside him. He looks at his watch while she stands at the ready, her pen poised above a spot on the clipboard nestled in the crook of her arm.

“Time of death: 10:42 PM,” he states in a gravely monotone voice. The nurse shakes her head sadly as she records the numbers in neat script. “Poor dear,” she sighs with a bit of a southern drawl. “So young. Only fifteen,” she adds, as if the doctor doesn’t know this already. “And no family, either. She’s simply much too young to have spent this long suffering. Poor dear,” she repeats wistfully.

The doctor remains silent as he helps the nurse tidy the room, arranging it in a neat fashion to make it easier for some orderly or other who would come in to arrange the room for another patient. The nurse gives one last glance to the pale-skinned face haloed in thick strands of dark hair and sighs before following the doctor out of the door, letting it softly click shut behind her.

I watch my body from outside the window for a few moments longer. I feel no loss, no regret. Actually, I feel very little, just silent. I watch until a breeze passes nearby, pulling me along, whispering a challenge in my ear. “Race you,” it dares me. I smile faintly, and turn to run into the pale morning light. It blows merrily beside me as I race to my parents, waiting for me just past the horizon. I’m running, and I’m laughing.

November 2004. Inspired by the first minute of The Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Venice Queen.”