Spire

In a world much more vivid than this, lies scores of minds within my own. To touch on a thought in a dream is to grasp a what gives writing life. This is the world that flows from my fingertips when I begin to write, entwining me like a snare.

 

            Sleep consumes, devours, and through the sea of blackness I swim there again… metaphorically of course. It’s just my mind that swims, in the never-ending well that resides in sleep, a well full of secrets and dreams. Oh! Speaking of which, something brushes against me in the dark, what greets me in this late hour? What is it this time?

            My eyes rise to a pale, alien landscape and my first thought is this: They live here. Of course I’m thinking of them, the voices that murmur at the back of my mind like a board of CEOs, and occasionally slip me a document, a new idea to write. The colors are muted, but there, the surrealistic tint of sun-bathed eyes, every detail in the pock-marked asphalt and towering mansions vivid as roses on white satin. Now come to think of it, is that what I smell: flowers and linens?

            I cannot tell. The houses capture me where I stand at the edge of this strange village, on the marred and perfect street. Marred only to my eyes, which pick at what they see with the cold accuracy of a surgeon, but to my feet it is soft earth freshly turned by a spade. I move to call, and find I cannot speak. My thoughts are the only words I have here.

But I am distracted, forgive me. The houses! They seem to be made by sticks, nothing more or less, set helter-skelter with no pattern at all, no fastenings. They stack up and up, arrow upon arrow pointing to the sky. Maybe that is why they seem to big, the mansions that is. Each is round, like a hut, but has many windows set among the twigs, a castle made of a single tower. The doors are the only solid thing, metal bands on heavy oak. I fear if I press on one of those doors the tower itself would fall, so I bite back my temptation and walk on down the road. Oh, it’s so nice to walk on, if not to look at!

I am so enthralled in such a simple texture, I’ve felt it so many times before walking through my own lawn, that I am on top of the school before I look up. I do not know how I know, it looks so much more like a museum, an attraction. But it is a school I am sure. It has the feel of echoing laughter, energy suppressed in a quiet classroom. Yes, I know those feelings well, do you not believe me? Of course, of course…

I almost wish I could curse the opaque green glass… or maybe it’s crystal? I cannot see a single thing through it! And not a door to be found by my sharp eyes either. I suppose I could be missing something. I reach out to touch the beautiful emerald panes. If the road feels so nice while looking worse for wear, who could imagine what this will feel like? Sadly I don’t think I’ll ever get to know, for I simply walk into a green corridor hidden among the uniform smooth. Perhaps… is that what something so beautiful feels like? Nothing at all? I turn to see where the green wall begins and make the only sound to that moment: a gasp.

I had no idea I had come so far! The village, with its immense towers of twigs, was far below. It was magnified slightly where the emerald sheets should have been, and where I had stepped I saw the true distance. This place will never cease to surprise me! Wait… Just a moment. Did I just hear a call? I’m sure I did. Just down that corridor and to the left, I think. No, no, I’m not imagining things… well I am, but this isn’t the same. I’m a bit jealous actually. How come they get to talk and I don’t? Perhaps there’s a trick to it.

I walk down the hall, more olive to my left, a killer view to my right, and turn the corner. I found myself in a magnificent common area. All signs of the panels disappear, only thin black lines where the panes touched. Tables made of grey and white marble, the smells of rose and fresh sheets almost overwhelming. Looks like I came a bit late though, no food, only the students in black suits and red ties milled around one wall. They look quite strapping, but it reminds me much too much of debate. You’ve never been on the debate team? Good, never join it, full of people who only think they know how to communicate in my opinion. Only know how to say they’re right and you can’t get a casual conversation out of any of them… Why are they all lined up like that I suppose… It’s a bit… unnerving really.

I skirt the crowd, only to find myself being pushed and pulled front and center. I try to use my voice again to no avail, turning to chide them only to find not a single gaze is trained on me. Then I look over my shoulder, and their rude behavior is the last thing on my mind. Why would anyone put a cemetery so near a school? The large, muted hill rose up out of the earth like a cliff, and I wonder how steep it is, or if it’s the glass. It is magnified to fill the entire wall, top to bottom, like a morbid mural. I have no doubt the size of the headstones was monolithic, just like the houses below. The walls merely brought it into proportion to the people standing here. An angel of death mounted on a pedestal could easily hold four or five of the suited students in her arms. The thought comes to me… maybe they’re not students but morticians, young morticians for these immense things and this was the morgue. I really do hate morgues.

But then my mind is caught by the immense spire. It reaches up and up, higher than the pyramid I’m in I’m sure. It is of the same soft grey marble as the tables, only my bright eyes catch the shimmering glow in its veins. It looks as though a giant stuck a bone needle into the fabric of the earth and forgot to pull it through to make the stitch. I think, and I am quite certain, that if that needle were to be removed that unfinished seam will come undone and the world will fall apart. Which world? Certainly this is not the one I call home, with all things pointing towards the sky.

“Don’t ever get rid of it.” The voice most prominent in my mind orders me. Only this time it’s not just in my head. “Don’t ever get rid of it.”

Then I look and I realize with great shock (as if anything should shock me still, after all of this) the spire has no tip. It is a well that rises above ground, and I am certain it is full of pitch black ink. How many times have the voices dipped into this well to find words for me? As I fall into wakefulness I turn to see my characters, evil and good and impersonal, fall away as well. Soon my mind is swimming again, back through the shades and throes of sleep, to the world I call my own. But it isn’t is it? That world in my mind is belongs to me, I am its creator and protector. And before I am fully awake I reach for my journal on the nightstand, pick up my pen, and begin to write.

Author's Note

This is a dream plucked out of my dream journal at random for a contest, but still one of my favorites. I tried to add a bit of character to the telling to make the reader feel as if they were there for the event. Let my know any critique at all to help make it more entertaining, easier to follow, or anything I may have missed. This is for a contest, so be brutal if you have to.

Reviews

[Gravedigger]

Well, I won't be brutal because I don't see the need to. It was very entertaining throughout the piece, and I was never able to look away...and it made just enough sense to keep me in the flow, which is often how dreaming works. The only things I humbly recommend that could culminate this into an awesome work is to rework some of the sentences. There are quite a few fragments, run-ons and, in some places, word choice that could be better to link the adjectives.

EX: I am so enthralled in such a simple texture, I've felt it so many times before walking through my own lawn, that I am on top of the school before I look up.

This is good, but it seems a bit drawn out for a single thought. Take out the "it" and put a "that" before the "I've" and see if you can apply the same to other areas. Keep in mind that all of this is speculation: nothing is more important than staying true to yourself.

Way to keep me pinned to the page!

[Emil Straton]

Thank you for the commentary. I will definately look over my wording and see if I can select anything more suitable to shorten my thoughts. I'm glad it gives the sensation of being in the dream as well, that's what I was going for. More writing and revisions coming up. Thank you again!

~E.A.Straton

[Dawn]

Oh my god, Alex this descriptive piece of prose is amazing. How vivid and in my mind could this dream actually be. Well done hun, if this doesn't win the compitition then i dont know what will.

Keep going, this one is amazing, and i wish to learn more of your dream world.
Dawn