of nightmares and dreams. twilight.
Title: Of Nightmares and Dreams
Author:
savepureness
Characters/Pairing: Alice. Jasper. Alice/Jasper.
Genre: Angst. Romance. Rating: PG. Word Count: Roughly 1230.
Summary: Torn between nightmares and dreams, lost on a winter path, Alice and Jasper find out that their quest means more than just traveling, and that there are other boundaries to be broken along.
A/N: Set before the books’ time. Personal interpretation of the beginning of Alice/Jasper romance. 1949, the year of January - February terrible winter storms in Nevada, South Dakota, Wyoming, Colorado and Utah (cf. Wikipedia). Written for
jasperalice ’s first contest, on prompt dreams.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to Stephenie Meyer and her collaborators; there is no copyright infringement intended, and no profit is made of this piece of writing.
i know
how i feel when i’m around you;
i don’t know
how I feel when i’m around you -
(system of a down: roulette)
-
“I wish there was an easier way”; the opening tune is always the same.
-
They stop by the creek, backpacks already too heavy, the landscape failing to offer them a long-awaited escape. Jasper kneels, kicking his burden away. Jasper, her mind sets, her lips almost parting to say the name out loud. She refrains from tasting it again, knowing it would send a thrill of prickling unanswered questions to the back of her throat; knowing it would last within, for her to chew each sound, each letter, until she feels the urge to speak it once more.
“Perhaps we should camp here”, he says, cutting her train of thoughts. “I know we agreed to find the nearest town, but - he shrugs, the tease of a smile blooming on his lips - there’s something in the air, don’t you reckon?”
Alice flinches a bit, just a bit; there are times when his voice remembers its Southern modulations. It swirls syllables in a curious drawl, it switches tenses every now and then. Another aspect to brood over, another unanswered question floating in between.
“I only smell grass”, she answers, her voice tiny. Thinking words of praise to her pale complexion, she still turns around to avoid his gaze. She can’t know if pale is enough to hide her blush. The water invites her to check, and so she does, bending over its clear flow; frowning at her reflected image, Alice finds a momentary shelter in the closing of her eyes. But, though she frowns harder, there are no shades, no lights behind her eyelids. Lately, they only come in dreams.
-
He’s so organized, it makes her shiver. Should she be willing to know the day they’re stepping into, Jasper produces his well-worn notebook and narrows his eyes to check; the pencil marks are almost fading, but he still manages to decipher it. Should she wonder which road to take, he steps in, his voice suddenly more determined - a touch of authority still lingering in the words’ roots - and talks about moss growing on trees, and stars shining for guidance. Sometimes he even grows enthusiastic, eager to share more; there are so many tales he knows, tales he had lived, and she listens carefully, eyes wide open and mouth improperly shut.
At crossroads, Jasper finds himself; he makes a purpose in life out of taking decisions. By day, his voice is mild, his pace so rhythmic, and his arm sometimes reaches for her - the next moment she flies to the sky, seized by giggly reprises, while his strong grasp awaits it at the other end, to bring her safely back. By night, there’s no more talk of laughter, of lighthearted stories and teasing games; by night, he changes. Come nightmares, she changes too.
Her own curse was enough to deal with, until she found out it could be called a blessing. It lead me to Jasper, she muses, his name lingering again; she tastes it briefly before regaining her composure. Maybe it can help me cure him, too - this inward voice is the tiniest, shying away at the back of her head - and then, and then …
Tonight, nothing’s different: twilight dies alone, struggling to keep the last sunrays upon it. Merciful, the sun bleeds once again, a few drips of purple staining the horizon; then it sails away, and there are no nightingales to plead for more, for winter approaches. Actually, winter is already here. It was all around them, all over them, for weeks, but they’ve made a great bargain when they bought the fur coats that prevent them from feeling the cold; the Navajo trader had been kind to them, in spite of his fatigue. Far from home, he had found their company enjoyable, a handful of legends to entertain them by the campfire. She felt sick when they had to kill him; every now and then, she thinks she feels his blood inside her, cursing betrayal and smiling death.
No. He simply walked into my life, Alice changes her mind, Jasper’s head on her knees. She watches him sleeping, aware that it won’t last for long. The curse - the gift - has been of no help whatsoever; it only made her long for someone she couldn’t find. It’s been a year, she knows it by the scribbled figures in his notebook. A year of summer and winter, of sunny transparence or moody night hunts, a year of understanding how to rejoice life while wondering why it needed death in the process; a year of his nightmares, a year of her visions. Jasper’s fears, Alice’s hopes. She often lives in his dark world, filled with chimaeras, longing for dreams of her own.
-
“Nooo -“
Startled, Alice arches her knees for a jump; she remembers where she is in time, though, and curls back in a ball, cradling Jasper’s head between her cold palms. His temples are feverish, damp from the sweat, and his voice cracks with every other scream. Resisting the impulse to cover her ears, she finds the familiar trace across his face: her fingers follow it smoothly, trying to soothe him, to give him shelter from his inner storm.
“I said no, ye bastards, yer name be damned -“, he goes on, eyes shut, lips cracking. “Ye’ll follow them orders, or else -“.
It’s the same tune, the well-known rhythm. He dreams of a past war that wasn’t his; memories hurt, each coming to tear another piece of his conscience apart, and there’s nothing she can do. Swallowing hard, she tries to call her own, only dream, the one she has when she falls asleep in the afternoon, with Jasper watching over her. There’s no answer, she knows; yet, she enjoys the silence, the white endless silence that lasts within the dream. It’s like, she sighs, something’s coming.
-
And then she knows. While he goes don’t kill him, he’s only a chi - , she covers his mouth with her trembling palm; he arches and coils, seized by his demons, and it seems like ages till his muscles finally relax, and he opens a pair of blurry eyes to face the darkness around.
“I’m here, Jasper”, she whispers, this time fully tasting each sound. The tip of her tongue still itches pleasantly when she helps him up on his elbow; she’s kneeling before him, hands on his shoulders, trying hard to bring him back. To have him back, to hold him.
He shivers and blinks quickly, taking time to adjust. She doesn’t give him any chance, though, for she knows that the nightmares are prying in the dark, waiting for the faintest sign of weakness to claim their possession again.
“Alice, I-I … I was there, again. I couldn’t stop it.”
His chin hangs; the corners of his eyes flinch under the threat of coming tears. She recalls the whiteness, the perfect glimmer of something undefined, of something greater than nature itself. Taking her courage from her only dream, her repeated dream of bleakness and wide plains, white spaces, she cups Jasper’s face in her shaking hands.
“I love you”, she dares; they will chase it away.
-
Three days later, a gruesome wind tore apart South Dakota; people and cattle and houses, all were gone under the touch of that ravishing bliss. When everything ended, there was nothing to be seen but bleakness, and whiteness, and cold silent plains.
In their shelter, they waited and they loved each other.
Author:
savepureness
Characters/Pairing: Alice. Jasper. Alice/Jasper.
Genre: Angst. Romance. Rating: PG. Word Count: Roughly 1230.
Summary: Torn between nightmares and dreams, lost on a winter path, Alice and Jasper find out that their quest means more than just traveling, and that there are other boundaries to be broken along.
A/N: Set before the books’ time. Personal interpretation of the beginning of Alice/Jasper romance. 1949, the year of January - February terrible winter storms in Nevada, South Dakota, Wyoming, Colorado and Utah (cf. Wikipedia). Written for
jasperalice ’s first contest, on prompt dreams.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and settings belong to Stephenie Meyer and her collaborators; there is no copyright infringement intended, and no profit is made of this piece of writing.
i know
how i feel when i’m around you;
i don’t know
how I feel when i’m around you -
(system of a down: roulette)
-
“I wish there was an easier way”; the opening tune is always the same.
-
They stop by the creek, backpacks already too heavy, the landscape failing to offer them a long-awaited escape. Jasper kneels, kicking his burden away. Jasper, her mind sets, her lips almost parting to say the name out loud. She refrains from tasting it again, knowing it would send a thrill of prickling unanswered questions to the back of her throat; knowing it would last within, for her to chew each sound, each letter, until she feels the urge to speak it once more.
“Perhaps we should camp here”, he says, cutting her train of thoughts. “I know we agreed to find the nearest town, but - he shrugs, the tease of a smile blooming on his lips - there’s something in the air, don’t you reckon?”
Alice flinches a bit, just a bit; there are times when his voice remembers its Southern modulations. It swirls syllables in a curious drawl, it switches tenses every now and then. Another aspect to brood over, another unanswered question floating in between.
“I only smell grass”, she answers, her voice tiny. Thinking words of praise to her pale complexion, she still turns around to avoid his gaze. She can’t know if pale is enough to hide her blush. The water invites her to check, and so she does, bending over its clear flow; frowning at her reflected image, Alice finds a momentary shelter in the closing of her eyes. But, though she frowns harder, there are no shades, no lights behind her eyelids. Lately, they only come in dreams.
-
He’s so organized, it makes her shiver. Should she be willing to know the day they’re stepping into, Jasper produces his well-worn notebook and narrows his eyes to check; the pencil marks are almost fading, but he still manages to decipher it. Should she wonder which road to take, he steps in, his voice suddenly more determined - a touch of authority still lingering in the words’ roots - and talks about moss growing on trees, and stars shining for guidance. Sometimes he even grows enthusiastic, eager to share more; there are so many tales he knows, tales he had lived, and she listens carefully, eyes wide open and mouth improperly shut.
At crossroads, Jasper finds himself; he makes a purpose in life out of taking decisions. By day, his voice is mild, his pace so rhythmic, and his arm sometimes reaches for her - the next moment she flies to the sky, seized by giggly reprises, while his strong grasp awaits it at the other end, to bring her safely back. By night, there’s no more talk of laughter, of lighthearted stories and teasing games; by night, he changes. Come nightmares, she changes too.
Her own curse was enough to deal with, until she found out it could be called a blessing. It lead me to Jasper, she muses, his name lingering again; she tastes it briefly before regaining her composure. Maybe it can help me cure him, too - this inward voice is the tiniest, shying away at the back of her head - and then, and then …
Tonight, nothing’s different: twilight dies alone, struggling to keep the last sunrays upon it. Merciful, the sun bleeds once again, a few drips of purple staining the horizon; then it sails away, and there are no nightingales to plead for more, for winter approaches. Actually, winter is already here. It was all around them, all over them, for weeks, but they’ve made a great bargain when they bought the fur coats that prevent them from feeling the cold; the Navajo trader had been kind to them, in spite of his fatigue. Far from home, he had found their company enjoyable, a handful of legends to entertain them by the campfire. She felt sick when they had to kill him; every now and then, she thinks she feels his blood inside her, cursing betrayal and smiling death.
No. He simply walked into my life, Alice changes her mind, Jasper’s head on her knees. She watches him sleeping, aware that it won’t last for long. The curse - the gift - has been of no help whatsoever; it only made her long for someone she couldn’t find. It’s been a year, she knows it by the scribbled figures in his notebook. A year of summer and winter, of sunny transparence or moody night hunts, a year of understanding how to rejoice life while wondering why it needed death in the process; a year of his nightmares, a year of her visions. Jasper’s fears, Alice’s hopes. She often lives in his dark world, filled with chimaeras, longing for dreams of her own.
-
“Nooo -“
Startled, Alice arches her knees for a jump; she remembers where she is in time, though, and curls back in a ball, cradling Jasper’s head between her cold palms. His temples are feverish, damp from the sweat, and his voice cracks with every other scream. Resisting the impulse to cover her ears, she finds the familiar trace across his face: her fingers follow it smoothly, trying to soothe him, to give him shelter from his inner storm.
“I said no, ye bastards, yer name be damned -“, he goes on, eyes shut, lips cracking. “Ye’ll follow them orders, or else -“.
It’s the same tune, the well-known rhythm. He dreams of a past war that wasn’t his; memories hurt, each coming to tear another piece of his conscience apart, and there’s nothing she can do. Swallowing hard, she tries to call her own, only dream, the one she has when she falls asleep in the afternoon, with Jasper watching over her. There’s no answer, she knows; yet, she enjoys the silence, the white endless silence that lasts within the dream. It’s like, she sighs, something’s coming.
-
And then she knows. While he goes don’t kill him, he’s only a chi - , she covers his mouth with her trembling palm; he arches and coils, seized by his demons, and it seems like ages till his muscles finally relax, and he opens a pair of blurry eyes to face the darkness around.
“I’m here, Jasper”, she whispers, this time fully tasting each sound. The tip of her tongue still itches pleasantly when she helps him up on his elbow; she’s kneeling before him, hands on his shoulders, trying hard to bring him back. To have him back, to hold him.
He shivers and blinks quickly, taking time to adjust. She doesn’t give him any chance, though, for she knows that the nightmares are prying in the dark, waiting for the faintest sign of weakness to claim their possession again.
“Alice, I-I … I was there, again. I couldn’t stop it.”
His chin hangs; the corners of his eyes flinch under the threat of coming tears. She recalls the whiteness, the perfect glimmer of something undefined, of something greater than nature itself. Taking her courage from her only dream, her repeated dream of bleakness and wide plains, white spaces, she cups Jasper’s face in her shaking hands.
“I love you”, she dares; they will chase it away.
-
Three days later, a gruesome wind tore apart South Dakota; people and cattle and houses, all were gone under the touch of that ravishing bliss. When everything ended, there was nothing to be seen but bleakness, and whiteness, and cold silent plains.
In their shelter, they waited and they loved each other.