Chapter 2: Dreaming with Fate

A short, sweet chapter to explain more about the life of the twins.

 I relish every word we say to each other. They're some of the only positive words I hear in my life. Even though she's been through quite a lot, she hasn't changed a bit. Talking to her is the same it's always been. Death didn't change Destiny.

She touches my easel, and an ethereal version of it floats up to join us. It was handy. She couldn't alter things in the real world, but she could make... copies, in a sense. She flips to a rough sketch I had done earlier this afternoon. “Nah, I don't like it.” She says bluntly. She always made her opinions known, for better or for worse. “Too dreary.”

“It's supposed to be dreary,” I defend, “It's an insane person.” The picture itself is of a girl holding her head in her hands, crying. Des sighs.

“No, it's sad. It's you. I'd be okay with it if that's what you were trying to do. But insanity is something different. It's dark and dangerous, delusional and unclear.” She reasons. She always focused on really bringing out the life in her drawings. Always made the eyes big and clear, so they, along with the rest of the body, can portray emotion more effectively.

“This is my version,” I argue, “It's what I think it is.”

These kind of arguments happen frequently. They aren't mean, it's a waste of time. Time moves more quickly in these 'dreams', so the night can snap by. We keep debating though, and that's exactly what happens. Dawn comes quicker than we were prepared for. As soon as the first ray of sunlight shows on the horizon, we stop arguing.

“Well. There's always tomorrow night.” Des says optimistically. I groan. I don't want to leave now. I'd join her if I could. Came close to it a couple of times. The only reason I keep going is because she wants me to. She wants me to be with her too, but to live out a full life first. She doesn't want mine cut short like hers was. The funny thing is, she never elaborates how she died. Her body was found in the creek a couple miles away, so terribly hurt that I wasn't allowed to see it. I don't know who or what killed her, or what was done to her.

I was actually the first to know about her death. She visited me the night before the body was found, and explained everything to me. She told me that she was dead and that she'd be staying with me to the end. It was unnerving, but I got used to it.

My vision starts fading to white, and I say goodbye. It scared me the first time, disappearing like this. I wasn't sure what was happening, and Des was as lost as me. I started panicking and was so relieved when I woke up in my own bed. Now I was pretty calm throughout, and Des bade me good luck, even though I hardly heard it. I felt gravity again as well as the bed sheets. Then I heard the alarm clock.

I opened my eyes wearily, not abnormally tired, but still sleepy. I reached over to the night stand and turned the stupid thing off, giving it a murderous glare. I sit up and pull myself out of bed, braid a mess. I'll fix it after breakfast. For the mean time, I go downstairs to the kitchen. Waiting for a couple Poptarts to finish toasting, I poor myself some juice and sit down at the table. Of course, at that moment they finish. I groan and stand back up to fetch them.

Destiny very likely watched all of this, and is probably still watching. She can only do the copy-thing at night, so her days are really boring. At least, that's what she told me.

I eat breakfast in silence. No one shows up, which isn't surprising. I have to get up pretty early to get ready for school. The braid takes up quite a bit of time. I finish up and go back up the stairs. Time to fight with the mess known as my hair. Oh this will be just delightful. I have to undo the whole thing so I can brush it, then braid it again. Why don't I just cut my hair to save the hassle? Because I like it, that's why.

I swear I can hear Des laughing at me while I battle with my hair. She always liked her hair short because it was easier to manage. While I took good care of mine, she didn't really care much about hers. Always let it just puff out. Seriously, it drove me crazy.

I finish the fight and get my stuff together for school. Can't forget homework. Or the sketchbook. I grip the knob of the front door, but hesitate before opening. Something feels wrong. I say to the air, “Watch the house, Des.” and leave. I can't stop to think about it too long, don't want to be late for the bus.

Now time to go to the real hell.

Author's Note

The other girl working with me on this can't help. She said that she learned that she's only good at poetry. So now I'm working for bother parts.

Reviews

[Isabella Vennemann]

Love this,can't wait for more.

[Viney]

Glad to see you like it! While you're waiting, maybe you could read some of my other stuff.