It feels so self-serving but Ill treat it as an anniversary. It was a year ago November 8 that I wrote my very words trying to describe a very vivid dream that I found had a back story and characters. Maybe this will help me keep track of my progress. Cheers! Prologue The sky has softened to twilight, aglow in bronze and deep scarlet. It has become dark enough to obscure the front stairs that lead to my room. I know these stairs. They traverse the steep, grassy heath and pass under a gateway fashioned as pair of granite knights, my stone watchmen. These stairs lead to an interior walkway, but this path has fallen into darkness so I must wait. As I once again awake gently to evening, I look down at my hands as I did last time, as I always do on awakening. I am Rose. I am thirty-one years old, but transformed. My hands are an old woman’s hands. I see the tremor, the bent right index finger, the thin wrists. No! Misdirection! These hands are not frail; they are strong and skilled - my hands! With a smile I rise to prepare. To leave my room. To meet my husband who has similarly awoken in his twilight, in his room on the other side of the world. My heart soars as I fling the door open to the dawn of my life as I always do, now that I am once more at the beginning of my story. A life of beginnings and first times. Sunlight streams down and a fresh breeze sweeps me along, lifting my thick, auburn hair and toying with the fabric of my skirt, stroking my cheek, tickling my nose. Two more steps, I reach him and we are together. I know this man so well. Tall, vital, his golden hair catches the light, his blue eyes fill with joy, and he is alight, glowing. “My husband!” I am laughing as we embrace. “My love!” he laughs in reply, resting his hands on my shoulders as he did last time, as he always does, as he moves along beside me and we walk together, together to save the world. (c) JPrice
Posted on: Sat, 09 Nov 2013 22:06:49 +0000
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