Maera's Dream

I seem to have some very intricate and imaginative dreams that I have decided to weave into a book that I am writing. This is how the first chapter of that book begins...

     Fluid motion flowing disrupted the clarity of the mirror. I was captivated, enchanted, bewitched, and completely unable to move. Visions began to dance and swirl within the water's embrace of the solid quicksilver. My eyes were locked in a stare and my mind refused to wander away from my visual focus. A woman appeared before me, her arms outstretched as she looked toward the sky in greeting and supplication. A violent wind whipped her dark hair and robes around her and threatened the sky with clouds almost darker than the black of her wardrobe. However sinister the scene seemed, I felt a connection with that mystical maternal figure. I felt protected in her powerful presence as if whatever ritual the priestess was performing was for my sake.

     The rising plumes of smoke in front of her clouded her face, but I knew that emerald eyes were fixed there. Tears sprang from them as a mountain spring, yet fell unnoticed by the woman. She was not physically beautiful, but instead could take the breath away by means of an inner strength that was made evident by her passion as it intertwined itself with her words. The powerful potion of these things combined to create a sort of shimmering spectacle only seen with the spirit. I found myself weeping along with the priestess. I was utterly absorbed in the emotion of the moment.

     Suddenly a small, cold hand gripped my own and broke my concentration. It was hard to tear myself away from the mirror world and discern the difference between it and the room in which I stood. The wind from the world of reflection entered the room with a force that nearly knocked me over, as though it had read my mind and was now joining the two worlds as one. The room was a roar, but I was still able to hear the mirror shatter and its magical liquid splash to the floor. Candles abandoned their flames with gusts of smoke and painted the room the color of twilight. I turned in anger to search for the source of the chaos only to find a little girl where I had expected a devil. Upon further inspection I saw that the child was quite diabolical in appearance after all. The girl's eyes were completely black and refused to blink despite the wisps of black hair that seemed bent on torturing them in the wind. Her skin was the color of milk, and her mouth moved with an urgency but made no sound. It took a few minutes for me to recover from my shock and realize that the daemon child had led me to another room where plants were on the verge of being torn from their ceramic houses. Papers pirouetted around the room with an air of importance. One of these dancing documents was slightly darker and thicker than the others. The girl snatched it from its dance with an alarming speed and unfurled its frayed fibers upon a well-used, poorly-lit table.

     The faded parchment revealed itself as a map. Lines seemed to glow gold under the girl's determined touch. Her eyes glared up and back to the paper with short jerks of her neck. Frustrated by my black and confused stare, the child's lips began to move with fervor once more. A whisper made its way through the roar of the whirlwind in the room and to my ready ears. Languages began pouring into my mind as though sound waves were not needed to carry them. I recognized French, Spanish, Mandarin, Hindi, Russian, and yet there were many more that were strangers to me. The room kept spinning in a frenzy, but made no noise.

     Once again I found myself in a trance, only this one was not voluntary. The girl held my gaze. Her words became louder and faster as she repeated phrases over and over again. I could see the words begin as they swirled with the papers that hung suspended in the air. They sparkled as stars that had crouched together seeking warmth. The words painted the map onto a canvas of air between myself and the daemon child. She pointed to a place on the glowing map that instantly captured my attention. Water began to gush from the tip of her finger flowing downward as a miniature oak tree grew in the opposite direction climbing ever upward.

     In a matter of seconds, however, the vision began to fade as did the young girl. It was only within these few seconds that I discovered she was the axis of the rotation of within the room. The objects closer to her spun slower than those farther away, yet as she began to fade, she seemed to draw them closer. Everything began to accelerate until I had mere slits where once were my eyes. The young maiden held out her arms in the same position as the mirror priestess and then separated into shimmering particles. The intensity of the room reached its zenith as the girl's tiny orbs exploded outward like a shock wave thrusting me against the wall. I fell to the floor that was covered in shattered shards of glass. My own reflection seemed to mock the pool of blood in which it rested.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

I followed you through the dream much like it was my own. Whereas you might have some inkling of the meaning, I admit I had almost none. It's an interesting beginning, and causes me to want to understand what it all means. Very good work, Hannah.

[Christina]

wow..this is really impressive..i love the description.

[J.B. Hastings]

I really like this piece, a lot. My favorite out of the stories of yours I've read. Intriguing, and original, in a way.

[John Braswell]

Wonderfully descriptive, almost visual---I'm certain that is what you wanted, and if so, you got it.
Good read

2nd to last line (waas)