A/N: This is merely a fictitious tale of a man and a younger woman who were somehow connected. Characters used were based on real persons. The personalities I used to define these people were probably not the real personalities of these people. I'm not a hundred percent sure, but, most probably. This is my weirdest story yet. This is my story written through mind and imagination, with a little help of research and at least twelve years of education, and my laptop (of course, through the, evermore, free and licensed Microsoft Word). This is written like poetry. There are symbolisms used but some of which only seemed like it because they were used for the sake of creative writing. Enjoy reading my first-ever posted fiction.

P.S. This is actually a Fanfiction but, it was posted here for my own reasons. J

Prisoners

Red, black and white was all she saw. . .

She walked down the unknown roads inside the woods. She looked at the clear pond with leaves floating on top of it. In the middle, as if it were intended, there were no leaves. She moved few steps and had a clearer view of a woman with a tousled hair and white dress, enveloped with the cold breeze of anger. Blood covered her whole face and hands. Her left hand was holding a blood-filled Swiss knife while her right held a woodbine, dripping with blood. She let go of these and sucked the blood from her left hand's index finger. She tasted the angst of the pensive and melancholic tragedy.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she saw the blurry image of this man, less than six feet tall, with hair in a Mohawk style and with a firm muscular body, in a brown tuxedo. She wanted to wipe her tears away but she could not in any way because blood came back whenever she had tried to wipe it on her dress. Her tears were free-flowing and her dress stayed white and undamaged.

The man was approaching her. She was scared and all she wanted to do was runaway but she was amazed to feel her feet meeting him half-way. Then, they met at last. Her tears never stopped falling, her hands were still red, her hair was still tousled but her dress was slowly turning into black. This time, she had no control over her body.

She felt his hands taking over hers. When he kissed them, blood was immediately gone. She couldn't look. She felt vulnerable to the fact that this man might take over him but all she wanted to do was give up forever to be with him. She looked up. His face was still blurred. His warm hands wiped away her tears when her eyes were closed. She opened her eyes and reckoned that this man returned her normal vision but shocked to find out he was running away. She wanted to run after him but she was glued to where she was. She called out for him. He looked back, smiled and waved goodbye when he was at least ten metres away. She had a vague view of his face but she was sure that he had panda-like eyes.

They were panda eyes.

He had panda eyes.

She was inside a whirlpool.

She saw his eyes.

They were on fire.

They were brown but they turned into gold.

They were gold then they were red.

She was inside a whirlpool. She was going round and round.

She never felt nauseous but was confused.

She was whirling around his eyes.

She opened her eyes and found herself lying down on a familiar bed.

"So that was a dream," she thought.

"Sarah?" She was snuck back to reality by a familiar husky voice, sitting at her feet.

"I might have been dreaming. I'm sorry," she replied to Matt.

Matt and Sarah had been dating but nobody knew except their families. Sarah was a superstar/actress while Matt was an actor/athlete. They had been going strong even if they didn't plan to let any other people know. Perfect match, eh? (A/N: I don't think so but for everybody's sake, I'd say, yeah)

"What was your dream? You were moaning in your sleep without tears coming out," Matt said out of concern.

"I remember . . ." She remembered how blood gushed out of her hands, how big brown eyes penetrated through hers and how he kissed her hands. "I remember nothing."

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked with pleading eyes, full of love. He stood up from the end of the bed, and then sat beside her.

She patted his head and smiled. "Matt, you're being ridiculous. That was just a dream." He held her hand and went closer to her face. She caressed his face and pinched his cheek. He curled a frown on his lips and she laughed at him. She let go and sat up from lying. Her head slightly throbbed, resulting from an untimely waking up, and not to mention, stress and lack of sleep.

"Matt, don't try to kiss me again."

"I've been waiting for that kiss, Sarah." He got up and sat beside her.

"Matt, I want it to be perfect. You don't want to kiss a drool-filled girl, do you?"

"Sarah, you're my princess. I don't care if you were neither mud-filled nor drool-filled." He draped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

"How long have I been sleeping, anyway?"

"Let's see. . . Well, we were talking with your mom and you said you had to get something inside, then, you didn't come back. Well, it had been at least fifteen minutes and I was afraid you had a contraction or something. So, I asked your mom if I could get inside and check on you and she actually approved. I love your mom. She trusts me so much."

She remembered how they were talking with her mom and she went inside to get her mobile phone. She was lying and reading a text from her workmate, Lea and that was when she fell asleep. She had not slept for more than four hours since last week because of her busy schedule. Her best friend, Judy, claimed that she was busier than the word busy. She was workaholic and she loved what she did. She loved performing in public and making people happy.

"Wow, Matt. You've been really overacting. Don't be. It's creepy."

"Sarah, that's how I care." He removed his arm examined the lampshade sitting on her girlfriend's bedside table.

"Matt, to tell you the truth, I don't understand how you learned to love me. Your ex-girlfriend was really beautiful and -"

He looked at her and held her hand again. "Sarah, you're the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Wow! That was an overstatement."

"It is not." He kissed her hands as he looked at her eyes. She remembered the guy in her dream. It was, more or less, a five-minute nap and it left a scar on her memory. She knew she wouldn't forget, in any way, the woods or the dress, or the blood. She knew that she would always remember the man's eyes and how they became abstract at the end of the dream.

"Hey!" He moved closer so they were an inch apart. She could not really understand how it felt normal at that time when, it had always felt stomach-somersaulting worthy.

"Uh – Matt, we – let's get out. Mom's waiting for us."

.

.

She looked at the clock: 12:12 am. She couldn't sleep. She could still remember him. She shifted position. She turned around and rolled over her queen size bed. She tucked herself inside her sheets but she still couldn't sleep. The man was haunting her. She had the most absurd paranoia. She asked stupid questions like, "What if he was the man I was with in my past life?" and "What if this man was the person destined for me and just died because I killed him?" She tried to figure out what her dream meant and she just could not. Anyway, her mom told her that it was a dream and it didn't mean anything, so, why should she bother thinking it over?

She got up to go to her bathroom. She looked at her full mirror to see a woman with a straight, shoulder-length tousled black hair, wearing a white spaghetti-strapped top and a pair of short shorts, revealing her flawless legs. She had tired yet lovely lidless black eyes, perfect brows, chiselled nose, evident cheekbones, full thin lips and dimples on both cheek. Attractive, she thought. She thought she was attractive. Beautiful was never an adjective she used to describe herself. She attracted males of all ages because of her undeniable charm. People told her that she was really beautiful but, she refused to believe that. It was her insecurity to beautiful ladies who became the reasons of her heartbreaks to make her believe she was not beautiful. Matt, however, tried his best to make her feel beautiful but she still didn't feel it. Attractive, yes, but I am not beautiful. She tousled her hair. They say I'm attractive and all but it doesn't matter. I'm a financially stable woman and I love my job. She went back to her room, laid down again to try sleeping.

She was starting to drift off when she heard something move. She opened her eyes and forgot the drowsiness that haunted her throughout the night. She saw a shadow passed. She rubbed her eyes to get a clearer vision but she didn't. She was sure that there was a shadow, though.

An unknown force was leading her feet to get out of her bed and walk inside her bathroom. She opened the door and went inside. Everything was normal. The shower and the toilet were still there. Her walk-in closet, with her shoes, bags and dresses, was still there. She felt her feet leading her inside the closet with her dresses. She entered it to find out she was inside a new world.

She was already wearing a plain white dress. She heard birds chirping. The wind was cold. It was morning and she felt the dew on her skin. She found herself stripping her white dress, then, she was walking down the path that led to the stream. She swam away her fears and her unlikely paranoia. She floated with the pangs of anger and tragedy she felt. She didn't understand why but she knew she had to cry.

She wanted to step out of the water but she opened her eyes; for, she felt gnarled hands enveloping her slim waist. She turned around to see the man, who was still holding her waist. They were so close and she felt her heart trying to get out of her chest. She saw his face, at last. It was a familiar face. He smiled. It was a familiar smile. She had no control over her body and mind but she knew who the man was. She wanted to get away but her heart said no and his grip got tighter. She knew he felt everything that was hers. He felt her. That was when she realized that he was not naked and was wearing a weird white shirt.

He flashed a fatal smile and held both of her hands. In a fraction of second, his lips were on hers. She could feel his warm right hand travelling from her left hand to her forearms, shoulders, neck, up to her face while his left hand rested with her right. She felt a warm, soothing and painless sensation inside her heart as they kissed passionately inside a pool of water of mystery.

She felt different. Her stomach was somersaulting and her mind felt all the same. She was vulnerable and naked. The man controlled her but she didn't want to let go. They stayed kissing for what seemed like forever when everything changed. His lips travelled from hers to her neck, then, up again her right cheek. His lips slowly trailed kisses from her forehead, nose, and back to her lips again. His hands were caressing her shoulders and he was pulling her closer. She did not move at all and let him do it. He pulled back from her, as if trying to memorize her features.

"Serah," he said.

That was when she realized that the man in her dreams was her married colleague. She was snuck back to reality by the weird way this man called her. Everything started to fade, then.

She was in a dark room. Pictures of people important to her flashed before her eyes. Photographs were moving one hundred miles per hour and they were flying in the air, as if there were a fan. Then, there was a fan. The fan was gone and, there, flashed a goat with a pitcher of water. There were circles and huge hands. There was a dog and a pig. They reproduced an eerie-looking baby. Avocado plants became guavas and papayas were mangoes. Bananas were apples and kiwis were oranges.

It ended her weird dream.

When she woke up, she remembered how kiwis turned into oranges.

.

.

She was inside the dressing room when all the work was done. Her mom called her and told her she would be in the car. She wanted to drive her away for some reason.

She looked at the mirror, trying to remember the source of her queer feeling at the moment. She bit her lip and felt a sensation of passion pouring inside. Her stomach somersaulted. She shook her head and thought about the most insane reverie; she thought she had a wet dream. Gah, Sarah. Girls don't dream wet. Uh – dream wet? What kind of phrase-formation was that? It wasn't even a phrase. Girls don't have wet dreams, do we? And besides, I'm old for puberty.

"That's lame," she said out loud.

"What's lame?" Francis entered the room.

"Huh? What's lame? Oh – Uh – I'm lame. I feel lame."

"Serah, you are not lame. You can walk," he said with a dimple-showing smile and pursed lips, then, he laughed at his own joke. That's lame.

She choked a forced laughter.

"Oh, I just feel tired, that's all. I – I need to go, sir." She gathered her bag and all her things, even the make-up her artist used, the wig from her film and everything on her desk.

"Hey, are you sure you're bringing all that? I mean, that's weird because they are not yours to keep. Don't you have Lizzie to get those for you? I thought it was hers."

Oh, snap it, Serah. "Lizzie said she was – I mean, actually, well, uh – she's – she's . . ."

Lizzie entered. "Hey, Francis, Sarah, I'm sorry but I just need to get things on your – oh – I thought I was going to – Well, are you bringing those home?" That was awkward. She was like looking at a snatcher richer than her. Good job, Serah. I didn't call myself, Serah, did I? No. That was rhetorical so it didn't require answers. I shouldn't ask myself questions. Gah! Sarah! Stop it!

"Uh – It's better if – I – Well, here, take it." Nice one, Sarah. He'll think you're just like any of her fan girls.

Lizzie smiled at her as she was taking her things from Sarah. She winked at her as if she were saying, "It's okay. I understand. I once drooled for him too." Now that was the worst day ever. He thought I was just like any other girls who worshiped on his feet and called him to say 'I love you' every time. Her head was, all along, ducked, facing floor and her eyes were closed; that, she didn't realize that Lizzie went out already. She looked up and saw two, piercing brown eyes looking at her black ones, at least a foot away.

"Serah, what's wrong? I worry about you, sometimes," he said with full of sincerity through a hoarse-sexy voice. He was looking straight into her eyes. Attractive. No. Beautiful. He's beautiful.

"Nothing is. I'm just tired," she answered. She looked down again to hide the shame and the redness that appeared on her cheeks.

"You know, Serah, it's the first time you've been like that around any other people. You were shy, yes, but you were confident enough in front of people."

"Sorry, sir. It's just -" She felt nauseous and unwell from head to toe. She collapsed into the arms of this beautifu, married and happy man, twelve years her senior.

"Serah, you really have to get some rest. Get a day off," he whispered near her ear as he supported her weight. Her right hand was on his left shoulder while her left hand lay helpless and both of his hands were holding her back. He carefully tried to get her up. She felt his torso and her breasts collided in a fraction of second, which seemed like forever. She smelled the man scent and perfume on this man's shirt. She didn't want him to let her go. She felt like staying there forever. She knew who this man was. He was the man in her dreams. That was when she remembered the dream she had the night before. She felt no satisfaction for any reason at all. She quickly moved away and said, "Sir, I'm sorry." She gathered her things while the man merely watched her.

"Bye," she said as she was near the door. She felt better. She was not sure why the man didn't help her again, assuming she was still unwell but, she pushed the thought away; for, she thought that it was not possible that he cared.

"Hey, Serah."

She opened the door fully and looked back. Her hand left the door knob as her hair swayed with the cold breeze from outside. He was not looking. He stayed on his previous position, without even trying to glance at her.

"Promise me two things."

"Yes?"

"Stop saying sorry."

"So – sure and what is the second one?"

"Stop calling me sir." He smiled, looked at her and walked out the door, even earlier than she did. He strode away without even looking back.

That was lame.

She closed the dressing room and went to the parking lot. Her driver approached her and her mom asked her questions that she didn't bother to answer. She was weak in his arms. She was vulnerable. She felt naked. There it was again; her plausible, peculiar paranoia. She was back to normal but she wanted to stay in his arms. Was it even legal if a young woman to feel an attraction to an older, not to mention, married man?

.

.

"Matt, I'm sorry. I was lame and-"

"No, Sarah, I shouldn't have done it."

Matt actually took the first kiss to the next level. They were just sitting so close on a one-man sized couch and the next thing he knew, he was kissing her. They were so close. They had a flirtatious moment. They were lovers. It was a normal reaction from a moment spent like that. Matt advanced on her as she was holding his broad shoulders. He kissed her from gentle to torrid. There were butterflies in her stomach. She felt her pulse going up to her temple. She, however, didn't feel what she would want to have felt; cared. It was what she felt with the man in her dreams. It was what Francis made her feel. She brushed away their unlikely encounter and thought about sleeping early that night. Well, she, pretty sure, was tired.

"It was fine.'

"But it was not your perfect first kiss."

It wasn't my first kiss. He is my first kiss.

"Matt, we'll be sharing a lot of kisses soon."

"When is that soon?"

She held his face and pinched his cheeks. "Come on. Let's go."

.

.

She couldn't sleep again. She was haunted. She saw him smiling. She felt his arms, his real arms. She felt cared and loved. He cared. She knew he did. He was not the epitome of perfection but she was sure that this man possessed something she could never understand. It was in her dream. It was mysterious. He was special to her. She felt a deep connection with this man through her dreams for a reason she couldn't fathom. She wanted to be with him again, not for anything else. She just wanted to see him and ask him questions she still had to find out.

She tried closing her eyes again. When she opened them, she saw him looking like a ghost; transparent and white. He was not a Casper-type ghost but he didn't look like a typical ghost everybody sees in the movies nor in real life. She didn't believe in ghosts but she called him a phantom at the moment. He stayed there, looking at her in a matter of three seconds. She realized that he was not a ghost. He was merely a pigment of her imagination. She cleared her head from her eerie imagination and tried sleeping again. She never felt so tired and consciously mind-bombarded (mind fucked in layman's term).

However, even if she tried, she couldn't remove the face of Francis on her mind. He was an older man, she knew, but she didn't understand why she felt an eerie fascination over him. It was the queerest thing because she didn't fancy getting to know guys years older than her. She felt so tired of thinking about him. He was married. He was a family man and she didn't know why she half-wished he was not. It was just the craziest thing to do if you had a schedule-ruled life. Her time was more than gold. It was platinum. In the middle of a planned-out life, she never realized that a single dream could turn it into an assylum.

She fell into a dreamless sleep.

And so she thought.

She was again in a weird place. She was inside a room. It was a weird room indeed with so many voodoo stuffs and even with the Annabelle doll from the 70's. She saw a pale lady with a tousled blonde-brown hair and red bulging eyes. She had this familiar smirk on her lips and a flat, almost-gone, bloody nose. She was approaching Sarah. She tried to run and run and run away from the monster, more like, a demonic entity to her.

Sarah was sitting inside a box. The box was moving but she wasn't. She was looking for the woman who was chasing after her but it was impossible because everything was starting to get blurred until she couldn't see. A blinding light regained her vision but she couldn't see any more than that because it stung her eyes. It was a diamond. The box opened into halves but it didn't break into two. From her position, she saw a giant woman crying, both hands covering her nose down to her chin, only revealing her eyes and a quarter of each cheek. A fair hand removed Sarah carefully from the box. The giant woman gave her hand and the man inserted her inside the giant woman's long, perfectly manicured ring finger, with a long, red nail, on her left hand. She felt blood gushing out of her as she was passing through this woman's finger. The woman was no giant. She was a ring.

She closed her eyes to ease the pain from this further penetration. Then, it was gone. She opened her eyes to find herself in a garden. It was as green as you ever imagined with trees and flowers. That was when she saw him again. It was weird to dream about the same guy in a matter of three nights in a row. This dream, however, was different; for, she could freely move. She could sense that this time, it was her time to do something. She wasn't sure what that something was but she was sure that there was something she had to do. She hoped, though, that her instincts were correct.

She walked to where the man was sitting; under a tree that bore diverse fruits; apples, bananas, and oranges. He wore a pair of leather shoes, a hat that resembles Bruno Mars's, a fitted plain white shirt, and a pair of black pants. She realized that she was wearing a plain white dress and high-heeled shoes like in all of her dreams. There was difference, though. Her hair was pulled up into a bun, revealing her charming face.

He was looking at the skies with a million rainbows, like a fairytale scene.

"Francis?"

"I was expecting you, Serah," he said in a rather soft tone, without looking at her.

"What do you call that?" He looked at her, pointing at the skies with so many rainbows.

"Sit here, please. I won't eat you." He smiled.

"Oh, please, thank you," she said as she carefully sat beside him.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" She looked at Francis, who had his eyes closed.

"What are they?" She asked, still looking at him.

"I don't know." His voice was soft and it gnawed the girl out of her. He was like serenading her. His voice was congruent to music and music is congruent to his voice.

"Does it always rain here? Those sure are a lot of rainbows." She removed her look from him.

"Don't ask me. Both of us got here at the same time."

"What?" She asked. Their eyes locked.

"We are both prisoners, Serah. There are only two types of prisoners. The first one is a prisoner who wants to get out of his cell and tries hard to correct the wrong. The second one is a prisoner who wants to dwell inside the cell and continue his journey to meet the fire."

"I don't-"

"Serah, this is life. We're trapped in a cell. We should try our best to get out of it."

"When a man gets out of his cell, it would either mean that he will be killed or he will feel neglected by people."

"When a man gets out of his cell, it's inevitable. A man will get hurt. But, what would you rather choose? Continue being trapped inside a cell or get out of it? It's your pick."

"If I were to ask you, who would you rather be? Would you want to be the first type of prisoner or the second type of prisoner?"

His right hand held her left one. He went closer to her and he kissed her again. She felt all twisty inside again. She cupped his face and his hands were on her waist. He pulled her closer. Each time they part, she could feel more longing for something more. She wanted to feel more. He kissed her forehead, nose and lips. He whispered on her lips, "We can never get out of the prison but at least, we should try. It's the only way." He pulled away.

"What do you mean, "The only way"?" She asked. Her hand still held his.

"It's the only way to a better life." He let go of her hand and got up. He strode away without even giving her one, last glance.

He answered her questions.

The last thing she knew, she was feeling better. She watched him walk away.

She woke up at 11:00 am. She slept for more than ten hours.

.

.

She was late for work. Her mom said that she couldn't wake her up however she tried to. Sarah was finally feeling better. She was ready to work again for the sake of the people who believed in her. Only one thing bothered her; the dream.

She was inside the dressing room again. Lizzie gathered her things already. Her mom left early. Matt would fetch her that night. It was seven o'clock on her watch. Matt texted and he said he couldn't fetch her. She went outside, with her bag on her left shoulder and her phone on her right hand.

She was walking to the parking lot's pavement when she realized that she didn't bring a car and she had to call her mom to fetch her because her boyfriend couldn't. She wanted nothing in the world but go home at that moment.

It could have been the luckiest day for any woman her age. One of the most attractive men was approaching her. It was, of course, Francis. Literally, he is the man of her dreams. He was wearing a plain white shirt, a pair of black pants and leather shoes with a brown scarf. She wondered why he always had a scarf but she never asked. She moved the other direction; for, it was never as awkward as this. She didn't love Francis. It was merely an attraction. He gave her an affection that even Matt never did. It had always been there, the attraction. It was never gone and she didn't think that after the dream, it would go away. She was a prisoner. She was his prisoner. She needed to get away before she continues falling. She had to let all of the fancy she felt go.

"Hey, Sarah, wait up." He didn't call her Serah.

"Yes?" She looked back, seeing this beautiful man again. He was wearing the exact same clothes in her dream.

"Are you, like, avoiding me?"

"No, Francis, I'm not."

"Why are you doing this? You're making this so hard on my part. I'm trying to approach you but you don't want to, at least, say hi." He was moving closer so they were a meter apart.

"It was never like that. I'm just having these weird dreams and I feel so tired and I feel so stressed but, you know, I feel better than I felt yesterday. Hopefully, I won't get sick."

"Nothing's weirder than dreaming a hundred rainbows in the sky. You know, my dream went like that. There were rainbows and I was under a tree. It bore three types of fruits."

"Oh-" That was my dream.

"That dream – well, it sure does mean something. I mean, I won't dream about that if it didn't mean anything. I think dreaming about the tree bearing apple, oranges and bananas mean that I should check my fridge if it had those. I mean, my kids all like them so I haven't eaten fruits like I did when I had no kids and that was at least, thirteen years ago."

Thirteen years ago, I was twelve. He's old.

"Well, maybe but I guess your theory wasn't right."

"The weird part is . . . well, you were in my dream."

"I was?"

I was. You were in mine.

"Yes."

"What was my part there? You were in my weird dream, actually." And you invaded me for three nights.

"Really . . . what was it about?"

"It was about plain white dresses and shirts." She laughed.

"That was cool. Were we selling those?"

"I guess."

Matt texted her to say he was already outside. His taping for the show was cancelled.

"Francis, Matt is here. We'll talk later, I guess?"

"Later? No, Sarah. We'll talk soon."

"Oh." She was somehow mortified.

"We're prisoners, Sarah."

"I was but I got out of my cell."

"We will never get out." He moved closer and kissed her forehead. "Bye."

Francis went to his car and drove home. Confused Sarah went out to see his boyfriend waiting. Francis went home earlier than her.

They were on their way to Sarah's home. No one spoke a word. Matt broke the silence because it was too weird for him.

"Hey, Sarah, what's up today?"

"We're prisoners, Matt."

"Huh?"

"Weird as it might sound, but, being trapped felt so good."

"If we were trapped in a room, I would feel good."

"I am trapped, Matt. Feeling good was a fancy. It was never real."

"I don't understand."

"I was a prisoner. My cell was phantom. It was not meant to be forever."

"I-"

"I do. Now, please bring me home."

"OK."

"And Matt. . . ."

"Yes?"

"Another thing. . . "

"What's that?"

"Dreaming is not bad. Reality is just better."