My big accomplishment today was cleaning out the refrigerator and getting half-way through laundry. But! I am trying to write again. I mean real writing, not stream-of-consciousness-write-so-you-don't-forget-how-when-it-matters blogging. Here are two sections to a story that I just might finish before my hair turns grey.
Caelum became aware of his dreaming. He was in a painting. No, he was a man on a green and sunlight hill so picturesque it looked like a painting. Coming down the road toward him was a figure. The dreamscape swirled like smoke in the wake of their path.
Prophet, prophesy!
It was a woman who spoke. He did not recognize her though he suspected that she was from the desert. Her voice hurt him because she had borrowed it from his wife. Strong and familiar. He felt resentment rise up. Who was this woman to use his wife’s voice to command him as if her voice were only a tool for distributing obligation and burden without giving back to him any other aspect of his favorite person?!
Prophet! You must prophesy.
The woman in his dream looked at him earnestly, maybe even apologetically. She seemed desperate. And then the dream took her away.
Caelum lay there awhile not wanting to be awake, not ready to be awake. He hoped his dream would fade like unimportant dreams do. It only burned brighter turning up every emotion he had as he tried not to think, tried a bit too hard to go back to sleep.
And also:
Jullanar looked in the mirror. Her hair lay in a heap on a
nearby towel. The reflection challenged her, stared her down and asked a
thousand questions that all came together in three words: Who are you? She was afraid of herself. Do you know who you will be at the end of all of this? She took in
a slow breath. Jullanar dreaded her work in that tunnel. Cutting her hair felt
like welcoming that dark, blood-letting place and she hated it. She touched her
head and turned away from the mirror. It was late. She needed to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be awful and nothing is
going to change that, Jullanar was certain.
Rolling up the towel,
she tried to pray but found every honest prayer, unreasonable. She wanted to
say something to the person she had been a month ago while she was still at
home but she did not know what she would say even if she could. She got into
bed and sat there in the dark semi-consciously reciting the lines Koi had
written her when she had been reassigned ships.
“…you are coming in at a crazy time. It will get better but
it may be a rougher start that I would have liked to give you. Hang in there…”
So, you faithful few who read this, tell me what you think. :)
