Hey there minna-chan. Erm.... I'm not really sure what to think of this
story, it's short, weird and odd... or is that redundant? Anyway, if it
stinks, just blame Demando. If it's great, go tell Antigone she's wonderful,
b/c this story was slightly inspired by her 'Call to Me' series. And while
you're at it, you can email me and tell me I'm wonderful too ^_~;
This is kind of an interlude of sorts, it fits in with my Stars Will Fall
story. Just so you know.
Legal Disclaimer: As much as I might pretend to really own Demando, I really
just stole him from Naoko-sama and hid him in my closet. I don't think she's
in any rush to get him back, so I'll just admit that Sailor Moon and related
characters are not mine, and maybe Naoko-sama will just let me keep Demando.
^_~ However, Leah is mine, and I don't think anyone else wants her. ^_^
Personal Disclaimer: I actually got married. I'm crazy. End of story. ^_~
Whew... that was long. Continue, valiant one! ^_^
------------------------------------------
A Good Night's Sleep
by Meredith Bronwen Mallory
mallorys-girl@cinci.rr.com
-------------------------------------------
The sky fades from brown to black as the small, faded ball of light slips
beneath the hellish horizon of yellow, jagged mountains. Night has fallen on
the planet Nemesis, and the last, rays of that dismal, faraway sun slide
like wine down the polished surface of the fortress that serves as the Royal
Family's home. Silently, it darts through the narrow expanse of a single
window, positioned on one of the high, spindly towers.
Inside, the floors are a cold, white marble, the ceilings high, echoing the
slightest touch or movement of breath. The surface gleams brightly, as
though no one has walked on it, as though they are afraid to. This sea of
brilliant marble continues towards one end of the room, where it slowly
moves upward. There is a bed there, almost carved out of the floor, with
four narrow posts standing at attention, as though to protect it's
occupants.
There is a woman in the bed, her skin frightfully pale, even against the
white of the sheets she sleeps upon. Her hair lays spread about her, another
wave of brilliant white. She sleeps, and she dreams, her jungle green eyes
darting back and forth beneath her closed lids, chasing something. She
dreams of flying, safe inside the cockpit of a giant metal monster. Beneath
her heavy, shadowed lids, she sees the sunset of Earth, in brilliant golds,
red and oranges, so beautiful it hurts. She smells of freshly cut apples,
but that smell is fading, replaced by something worn and dull. The ghost of
a scent.
Beside the woman sleeps her son, a boy, of very tender age, with his thumb
thrust gently in his mouth. His breathing is deep and even, contented, and
with his free hand he clutches a bit of the sheet. Beneath his softly closed
lids he sees fields of flowers, row upon row upon row of brilliant colorful
blooms. He has never seen them during the waking hours, they are carried to
him only by the wistful, longing words of his mother; they are seen in
reflected in her faraway gaze. He moves slightly, locks of blue hair falling
to cover the inverted crescent moon, forever engraved on his forehead. It
rests there, black against the pale of his skin, as if to mock all he dreams
of.
There is another boy in bed, but he sleeps away from his mother and
sibling, curled up in a tight, tiny ball towards the place where the sheets
and mattress end. His breathing is shallow, and his violet eyes move like
quicksilver, trapped. He sleeps fitfully, his head rolling this way and
that, tossing short white locks every which way. In his dreams, he sees the
darkness approaching; on his forehead, the invitation is already there.
---------------
The grand throne room is silent, the quite collects in puddles on the
floor, to be consumed by the shadows. There is a man sleeping on the throne,
his back rigid and his muscles taunt, his crystalline goblet having long
since slipped from his grasp to shatter on the floor, bleeding wine. He
dreams of people screaming, he sees blood coming in great waves of red,
crashing against a distant, dirty shore. He can not relieve his own
suffering, he can only wait there, trapped inside the nightmare that is his
soul, granted reprieve only when the dawn comes. Or when he is visited by an
angel. He dreams of her too, though her presence is scarce and sacred. In
dreams of her, he can find a brief amount of peace, in her golden length of
hair the sun he has never seen, and in her eyes the blue of a sky he can
only dream about. In the darkness of the throne room, the black moon sigil
gleams brightly on his forehead; a darkness brighter than light.
---------------
It smells of sulfur in the cavern created by the magic of the dark crystal.
The stench is overwhelming, sickening waves reaching outward to choke those
who might stumble into it's hold. Inside it's treacherous depths, like mouth
of a beast, a man is dying.
For him, night has fallen at last, and through a small fault in the
carvern's framework, he can see the canvas of the sky, painted gold and red
and orange with the sunset of Earth. There is a woman, no more than a girl,
really, cradling his dying body, gently, tears falling softly down her face
like a gentle spring rain. Her eyes are the blue of the heavens, and her
hair the gold of the sun, and he feels the tide of the sea in her soft
flesh. She carries with her the scent of flowers (row upon row of them),
dimmed only slightly by invading stench of sulfur.
Slowly, slowly, heavy lids begin to fall over brilliant violet eyes, that
reflect the truth and are no longer afraid. At last, his breathing is deep
and even, and his muscles become relaxed as they never were before. He
sleeps now, and will dream again. And the fourteen year old girl continues
to cry, just a little, for the man who has caused her so much pain, watching
his body become a million sparkling stars, that fade gently with the coming
night. She, of course, sleeps quite well.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Well, well, well, wasn't that interesting? ^^; I'm not quite sure what to
think of this, minna-chan, really I'm not. I thought this up at 12:30 last
night, while cleaning the dishes. It was written in about twenty minutes...
so. Is it a character sketch? A vinaigrette? Antigone seems to think it was a
character sketch... Who knows. Did it stink? Only
YOU can tell me, so PLEASE email me and let me know if it really and truly
sucked. ::bites lower lip in an attempt to be cute::: Onegai?
This has been an Evil Mad Scientist Production. Don't you feel special now?
^_~