The Death of Dreams (Pain: Part I)
There once lived a girl who hated dreams.
Not the dreams one might have while slumbering through the night, but the dreams that burrow into a heart and fill the soul with ache.
She hated her dreams.
They were merciless and unrelenting. With all of her strength she would capture and eliminate one, simply for another to burst to life...showering her mind with electric sparks and new ideas.
She hadn't always hated her dreams. As a child, she had loved them, even helped them grow. Her dreams had responded to her ministrations and grown very strong. At first, they had thanked her by filling her heart with beautiful gifts. She saw colors that others could not, heard music that had never been written, and witnessed all the wonders that were yet to come to pass. The girl was grateful, and she continued feeding and nurturing her dreams. She read them stories filled with adventure and fantasy and the whole wide world. She sang them songs that flowed along the surface of her skin. On warm nights she would take them dancing under the stars, which they would wrap into themselves until they became living streams of universe.
But with time her dreams grew powerful and tall. Soon they were so far beyond her reach that she could no longer feed them. They towered above her, giants made out of stardust and wonder. She called up to them to reach down to her so that she could care for them, but their ears were deaf to her cries
High above her, the dreams were feeling the first pangs of hunger. They called for the girl and grew angry when she did not come. Soon their hunger became ravenous, and they began to pull at their roots. The girl clutched at her chest as the breath was being torn from her lungs. She frantically grabbed for the tallest of the dreams, attempting to climb up high enough to be heard. One by one she felt the dreams tearing loose of her and collapsing, screaming as they disintegrated into earthen dust and fell dead upon the ground. Still, she climbed, even as her heart tore piece by piece.
Soon there was only one left alive. She clung to it, blood pulsing from her open heart and her hands torn from the effort. She poured every ounce of her love and hope and strength into one final song, calling up to the coursing nebula that raged above her.
Turning to face her, the dream turned dark. With one final tug, it ripped itself free of the girl, turning from light and stars to wind-battered dust as the girl went crashing down to the earth.
When she finally opened her eyes, her body broken and torn, she saw that she was covered in broken earth and there were no more stars in the sky. She thought of the dreams she had tried to save and how they had torn her apart trying to survive. Then she thought of the dream she had bled for, and in her mind's eye, she saw it turn toward her before dealing the death blow.
And she hated it.
Not the dreams one might have while slumbering through the night, but the dreams that burrow into a heart and fill the soul with ache.
She hated her dreams.
They were merciless and unrelenting. With all of her strength she would capture and eliminate one, simply for another to burst to life...showering her mind with electric sparks and new ideas.
She hadn't always hated her dreams. As a child, she had loved them, even helped them grow. Her dreams had responded to her ministrations and grown very strong. At first, they had thanked her by filling her heart with beautiful gifts. She saw colors that others could not, heard music that had never been written, and witnessed all the wonders that were yet to come to pass. The girl was grateful, and she continued feeding and nurturing her dreams. She read them stories filled with adventure and fantasy and the whole wide world. She sang them songs that flowed along the surface of her skin. On warm nights she would take them dancing under the stars, which they would wrap into themselves until they became living streams of universe.
But with time her dreams grew powerful and tall. Soon they were so far beyond her reach that she could no longer feed them. They towered above her, giants made out of stardust and wonder. She called up to them to reach down to her so that she could care for them, but their ears were deaf to her cries
High above her, the dreams were feeling the first pangs of hunger. They called for the girl and grew angry when she did not come. Soon their hunger became ravenous, and they began to pull at their roots. The girl clutched at her chest as the breath was being torn from her lungs. She frantically grabbed for the tallest of the dreams, attempting to climb up high enough to be heard. One by one she felt the dreams tearing loose of her and collapsing, screaming as they disintegrated into earthen dust and fell dead upon the ground. Still, she climbed, even as her heart tore piece by piece.
Soon there was only one left alive. She clung to it, blood pulsing from her open heart and her hands torn from the effort. She poured every ounce of her love and hope and strength into one final song, calling up to the coursing nebula that raged above her.
Turning to face her, the dream turned dark. With one final tug, it ripped itself free of the girl, turning from light and stars to wind-battered dust as the girl went crashing down to the earth.
When she finally opened her eyes, her body broken and torn, she saw that she was covered in broken earth and there were no more stars in the sky. She thought of the dreams she had tried to save and how they had torn her apart trying to survive. Then she thought of the dream she had bled for, and in her mind's eye, she saw it turn toward her before dealing the death blow.
And she hated it.
The Cost of Hope (Pain: Part II)
There once lived a girl who needed hope.
Pursued by a shadow of Dark Despair, she knew that hope would be her only defense. Her need for it became so great that she offered everything she owned as a reward to anyone who could find it for her.
Throughout the years many people came seeking the reward, and the girl chased down every lead. She sought health, but hope did not come. She strove for success, but hope did not come. She gave herself to charity, fed the homeless, and brought water to the thirsty. She loved as deeply as her heart allowed. Yet still, hope did not come. All the while, the Dark Despair stalked her quietly from a distance.
Eventually, she grew tired of searching and began to falter in her quest. But every time she slowed, the darkness would creep steadily closer. She knew that if she could not find hope, it would finally catch up and there would be nothing left of her for hope to save.
So she grew wild, grasping for any shred of salvation. And as each attempt failed, panic began to overtake her. She could feel the darkness clawing the ground just out of sight, waiting for the moment she stopped searching.
One night, as the girl finally stumbled and collapsed, the Dark Despair caught her.
Its jaws closed around her throat as its massive weight began to crush the air from her lungs, and she knew that her search for hope had been useless. Her breath failed her and she closed her eyes against the burning in her chest. It was in this moment that she finally understood.
The hope she had believed to be out of reach was, in truth, a tiny ember dwelling in the depths of her broken heart. If she had simply stopped running, she might have felt the warmth that had been fueling her all this time. Only now, as she lay trapped and dying, did she discover the truth. Opening her eyes, the girl looked to her hands.
Broken so many years ago, they were hideous and deformed. But as she studied them, willing them to fight for her once again, the darkness froze. She moved them to her face and the Dark Despair flinched back, releasing her neck. She gasped as air flooded back into her body and her crippled hands flailed. The darkness snarled.
Standing, she swiped out at it weakly. Retreating further still, its eyes filled with a familiar hatred. The girl felt the hope within her strengthen as she gained purchase on the ground. With a cry she burst forward, leaping and clawing at the darkness. The hatred turned to terror as she tore through layer upon layer of shadow-hide. The Dark Despair turned and fled, leaving the girl standing shakily on blackened ground.
The embers within her burst into flame, burning through her broken heart. She screamed in pain as she fell to her knees, the hope cauterizing open wounds from age-old loss. She stayed there, clutching at her chest, for an eternity...pain roiling through her like waves. She opened her eyes as it began to recede. Looking down at her hands she saw new, shadow-made scars from the fight. She saw the loss and the pain. She saw the lies and the betrayals and everything that had ever been stolen from her. She saw how broken she had become.
And she wept.
Pursued by a shadow of Dark Despair, she knew that hope would be her only defense. Her need for it became so great that she offered everything she owned as a reward to anyone who could find it for her.
Throughout the years many people came seeking the reward, and the girl chased down every lead. She sought health, but hope did not come. She strove for success, but hope did not come. She gave herself to charity, fed the homeless, and brought water to the thirsty. She loved as deeply as her heart allowed. Yet still, hope did not come. All the while, the Dark Despair stalked her quietly from a distance.
Eventually, she grew tired of searching and began to falter in her quest. But every time she slowed, the darkness would creep steadily closer. She knew that if she could not find hope, it would finally catch up and there would be nothing left of her for hope to save.
So she grew wild, grasping for any shred of salvation. And as each attempt failed, panic began to overtake her. She could feel the darkness clawing the ground just out of sight, waiting for the moment she stopped searching.
One night, as the girl finally stumbled and collapsed, the Dark Despair caught her.
Its jaws closed around her throat as its massive weight began to crush the air from her lungs, and she knew that her search for hope had been useless. Her breath failed her and she closed her eyes against the burning in her chest. It was in this moment that she finally understood.
The hope she had believed to be out of reach was, in truth, a tiny ember dwelling in the depths of her broken heart. If she had simply stopped running, she might have felt the warmth that had been fueling her all this time. Only now, as she lay trapped and dying, did she discover the truth. Opening her eyes, the girl looked to her hands.
Broken so many years ago, they were hideous and deformed. But as she studied them, willing them to fight for her once again, the darkness froze. She moved them to her face and the Dark Despair flinched back, releasing her neck. She gasped as air flooded back into her body and her crippled hands flailed. The darkness snarled.
Standing, she swiped out at it weakly. Retreating further still, its eyes filled with a familiar hatred. The girl felt the hope within her strengthen as she gained purchase on the ground. With a cry she burst forward, leaping and clawing at the darkness. The hatred turned to terror as she tore through layer upon layer of shadow-hide. The Dark Despair turned and fled, leaving the girl standing shakily on blackened ground.
The embers within her burst into flame, burning through her broken heart. She screamed in pain as she fell to her knees, the hope cauterizing open wounds from age-old loss. She stayed there, clutching at her chest, for an eternity...pain roiling through her like waves. She opened her eyes as it began to recede. Looking down at her hands she saw new, shadow-made scars from the fight. She saw the loss and the pain. She saw the lies and the betrayals and everything that had ever been stolen from her. She saw how broken she had become.
And she wept.
The Loss of Love (Pain: Part III)
There once lived a girl who wanted love.
She wanted it so badly that she would close her eyes at night and magic herself into an unbroken woman. But as soon as her eyes would open again, she knew she was not that great, fine lady. She was only a crippled girl, made stiff with scar tissue, exhaustion, and disappointments.
She would drag herself out of bed and slowly stretch out every muscle, pulling at the scars until they loosened just enough to allow her to dance.
Alone and like a monster, she would dance. Her clawed hands making jagged circles in the air as she threw her body into a wretched ballet of passion and pain. She would dance until she had no breath, and then her scars would warm, her hands unfurl, and her body take flight for eight ecstatic moments before collapsing back in on itself, spent.
In the absence of motion, a debilitating loneliness would rush into her bones like the tide. Her body turned brittle, and all her scar tissue grew cold. So she bathed in oils and salts, masking the tears that she wept.
She had known loneliness for as long as she could remember. It had seen her through all of the battles that had given her such scars and walked hand in hand with her as she defeated demons. As the years passed it had grown into her, curling through her veins until the pain was as familiar as her own skin.
It would pull at her throat when she tried to speak. It pinched beneath her tongue whenever she smiled. And sometimes it dug through her chest and crushed into her heart like an old, wicked friend. It whispered false, loving words that caused her to reach out her broken hands, only to find them emptier than before.
As the girl grew old, she could no longer dance long enough to shed her brokenness.
One day she woke and heard no more music. In sorrow, she stumbled and crawled outside into the wilds, holding onto branches and roots to give her strength as she fought to climb high into the mountains and above the clouds. Time passed, and still, the broken girl climbed. She lost her sight, and still, the broken girl climbed. Her hearing failed, and still, the broken girl climbed.
Then, at last, she reached the top of the world and could climb no higher. With all the strength left within her, she pulled her body upright and steadied herself on the crown of the earth.
Moments passed, or perhaps years.
As she stood there, the girl remembered her life. She remembered her dreams, she remembered her hope, and she remembered her love. She remembered the feeling of warmth and the sound of rushing water. She remembered the sight of the setting sun and the wide, wide universe above her. She remembered so well that she could almost imagine it was real.
With a storming gust of wind, her body grew suddenly warm, loosening her limbs and bringing color to her cheeks. The sound of birdsong and living water came rushing into her ears. The earth beneath her feet became a coursing stream of strength into her bones.
Awestruck, she watched with new eyes as the sun pierced through the darkness and bathed the great world around her in golden light. And as tears poured down her face, the girl looked up and saw the sky.
It was alive with stars.
She wanted it so badly that she would close her eyes at night and magic herself into an unbroken woman. But as soon as her eyes would open again, she knew she was not that great, fine lady. She was only a crippled girl, made stiff with scar tissue, exhaustion, and disappointments.
She would drag herself out of bed and slowly stretch out every muscle, pulling at the scars until they loosened just enough to allow her to dance.
Alone and like a monster, she would dance. Her clawed hands making jagged circles in the air as she threw her body into a wretched ballet of passion and pain. She would dance until she had no breath, and then her scars would warm, her hands unfurl, and her body take flight for eight ecstatic moments before collapsing back in on itself, spent.
In the absence of motion, a debilitating loneliness would rush into her bones like the tide. Her body turned brittle, and all her scar tissue grew cold. So she bathed in oils and salts, masking the tears that she wept.
She had known loneliness for as long as she could remember. It had seen her through all of the battles that had given her such scars and walked hand in hand with her as she defeated demons. As the years passed it had grown into her, curling through her veins until the pain was as familiar as her own skin.
It would pull at her throat when she tried to speak. It pinched beneath her tongue whenever she smiled. And sometimes it dug through her chest and crushed into her heart like an old, wicked friend. It whispered false, loving words that caused her to reach out her broken hands, only to find them emptier than before.
As the girl grew old, she could no longer dance long enough to shed her brokenness.
One day she woke and heard no more music. In sorrow, she stumbled and crawled outside into the wilds, holding onto branches and roots to give her strength as she fought to climb high into the mountains and above the clouds. Time passed, and still, the broken girl climbed. She lost her sight, and still, the broken girl climbed. Her hearing failed, and still, the broken girl climbed.
Then, at last, she reached the top of the world and could climb no higher. With all the strength left within her, she pulled her body upright and steadied herself on the crown of the earth.
Moments passed, or perhaps years.
As she stood there, the girl remembered her life. She remembered her dreams, she remembered her hope, and she remembered her love. She remembered the feeling of warmth and the sound of rushing water. She remembered the sight of the setting sun and the wide, wide universe above her. She remembered so well that she could almost imagine it was real.
With a storming gust of wind, her body grew suddenly warm, loosening her limbs and bringing color to her cheeks. The sound of birdsong and living water came rushing into her ears. The earth beneath her feet became a coursing stream of strength into her bones.
Awestruck, she watched with new eyes as the sun pierced through the darkness and bathed the great world around her in golden light. And as tears poured down her face, the girl looked up and saw the sky.
It was alive with stars.
Tolkienesque and beautiful. Like an epic ballad, and elements of his epochal love stories that are whole histories. Truthtelling in a particularly redemptive way.
ReplyDeleteThank you. ^_^
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