Author: Ajaz PM
She didn't know whether she was alive or dead, whether she was awake or sleeping, but she did know that she was afraid of the monsters that prowled outside her door and that sometimes, fantasy was better than reality.Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Fantasy - Words: 634 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 09-30-09 - Status: Complete - id: 2726093
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I'm always afraid that somehow, someday, someone might slam open the door and shatter my world into infinite crystal bits.
That's why I keep on looking behind me – I always have to watch. I'm always tense. Some nights I dream of nothing but long road trips across the country – those nights where I'm between the waking and the dreaming and I can't fall asleep because the moon is too bright and too clear and it's sung in the sky.
I don't know what to do with my life. But the moon is forever eternal.
So I fall asleep and then I wake and I see this orb hanging in a midnight blue sky – all alone – casting its reverberated light on the forest below (and me also), and I wonder: does it ever feel afraid that someday its world might shatter? That the Sun may no longer rise forcing it to drop like a stone into the darkness?
I take a furtive glance behind me. No, there's no one. Just the plain wooden door leading to this room I am in. But I can hear clanging and footsteps pacing up and down in the world outside the door.
I wonder when she'll decide to enter.
Sometimes I dream of long ribbons of green grass. It's a glen this time and the moon's still shining on my face as I lay on the ground, hands tucked beneath my head; a big oak, painted silver-blue by the moon's light, hangs over me but the moon still shines through. The grass smells sweet so I break off a chunk to chew.
The moon, I think, hovers like a white angel that I have never before discovered.
A knock. I don't want them to know I'm here. I don't answer. Maybe it'll go away.
I close my eyes and sigh; tilt my head back onto the back of the rolling chair. There's nothing but dark green (perhaps that shade was called emerald?) forest for miles that I can see. It's evening. Outside, the crickets are chirping. I can still hear pacing.
And now she's talking.
And I feel as if it is so deceptively sweet and I hate how he talks and I want to run. There, I said it. I'm afraid and I'm desperate and I don't know what to do – and oh God, oh God, oh God no.
I hear a more insistent knock.
And I wish it weren't so…and where I am in my mind is in the desert where there's nothing but midnight blue skies with stars that twinkle with you and that moon, that damn moon, that's always watching.
And I too fall like a stone.
There's no one around for miles so I can wiggle my toes into reddish-grey sand and run an infinite distance parallel to nothing.
This grey chair spins. Fascinating. I think of a spinning top. I had one once – pink plastic with orange swirls – but they cracked it into two because they said the top wasn't good enough for me. Now they think I'm not good enough for them.
Everything I do now is just lies, all lies. They tell me that this "I" equals nothing.
And (oh God) the door's being thrust wide open and I can't feel or breathe or think. So I slump back onto my spinning rolling chair and shut my eyes real tight.
And suddenly there appears a white bird watching that might just be me and I can smell sweet grass as I lie in bed running across the desert watching the silver moon –
I can breathe easy now.