You Never Remember - original (date unknown, finished)
Random, four page long dialogue. I've missed writing dialogue's, because second person doesn't really make it easy to write conversations.
This makes no sense. Based somewhat on the fairytale "The Snow Queen".
“Please.” It’s not even a whisper, but lower, breathless sort of. Like the silent rising of the stars on a summer night. And it hung between us like the misty breath of a child on a cold winter’s morning. “Please.” Again, and this time a little louder. But still low enough to only be heard by the two, though there was no need for quietness; they were the only two in the room. And still, it hung between them, the words like a soft spring rain. It was not so much I wanted to hear the story, but I feared what would happen once I was left alone in that crystal cave where words hung in the air.
“You know the story. You know it. The mind represses, but the soul never forgets.”
“But I don’t remember. Please, just tell it to me once more. I swear I’ll remember this time.”
“You always say that. But you always forget. You should go. The queen will be stirring shortly.”
He looked at me, with his wizened face, an old, old man, one who has seen much and gone through more. He was what I thought Death would look like, were I to ever see Death in person.
“I promise. I’ll remember this time. Just once more.”
“If you look inside, you’ll remember. Try it. It starts with a snowflake.”
It was a struggle to remember anything, but vainly I tried. A snowflake, a white drop of lacy edges and curling patterns, falling, falling….
“It was cold,” I muttered, to myself, although I know he’d hear my words. “So cold. But it didn’t melt like the others…”
“You remember,” he breathed into the silence I left, in my attempt to recall the memories.
“Yes! Yes, I remember. It was so cold and he was there… he… who was he?”
“You’ll know, if you keep looking. He was your friend.”
“Yes, my friend. My best friend.” Lick my lips, and struggle to remember more. We were playing, in the snow, among the snowflakes.
“And she… she came. She came from the snowflake. The one that didn’t melt.”
“Yes,” he said. “She came. And what did she tell you?”
“I, I don’t know. She said something.”
“What was it that she told you?” he whispered. “It’s important that you remember.”
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” I whispered, closing my eyes against his face, and that terrible visage, and try to remember. Her voice, like silk, whispering something to us. But not. Not to me. To him.
“She told us both, but it was meant for him,” I whispered into the room. “It was just meant for him.”
“But if you look inside, you’ll remember her words.” His voice was driving and determined, as though he depended on upon me to remember those words.
“I’m trying,” I said again, sinking to the ground and reaching for his robes. The ends were heavy, wet from being dragged through the snow. The snow… her. That woman, who spoke words only meant for his ears.
“She wanted him,” I whispered. “She wanted him, but he would not go.”
“You’re remembering more. Think harder. Why did she want him? What did she want with him?”
I wrapped my fist into the hem of his robes, finding some sense of strength in them. “She wanted him, because, because… he was… Oh, I don’t know. Please, you tell me. Why?”
“I can’t tell you. You know that.”
“You’ve told me before.”
“Just remember. Remember until dawn, when you slip back into her bed, and recall it then. You’ll know everything, then.”
“But I can’t. I can’t remember. Please, tell me.”
“If you look harder, you’ll see it inside you. Remember her words - she wanted the boy, but could not take him. Not then. Why?”
Close my eyes and grip the robes more firmly, try to search my soul for the answer to his question. Why?
“Why?” I repeated quietly. It too, hung between us in the air, sharper this time, not like the spring drizzles, but a harsher, pounding rain. The storms of summer. “Why?”
“You’ll find it inside you,” he whispered, urgently.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why she wanted him. For some reason…. He refused, and she threatened… There was a sound, a sound like…”
“Like what? Describe it.”
“I don’t… I don’t know. A sound like…”
“…like the breaking of a heart. A heart wrapped in layers of ice breaking,” he said. “A block if ice shattering into a thousand crystals and raining, raining down.”
“She wanted him, and he refused, and she threatened… something… and he went.”
“He went. Where did he go?”
“With her.”
“Where, with her?”
“Somewhere… a dark place. I remember that. The sound, and the dark place.”
“You remember something, then. Just remember her words. Remember her words and everything else will come back.”
“But… I can’t,” I breathed. “I followed them, and he, he was dying, trapped in that dark place. So I… oh, tell me, what did I do?”
“I can’t tell you. You need to remember.”
“He went free, and I was trapped in that dark place with her. With her.”
“The queen will be stirring soon. You need to be back in bed.”
“No! I need to remember. Tell me, please, tell me the story.”
“I can’t tell you. The morning is almost upon us. You need to remember. The sounds, the dark place.”
“Yes, the sounds.”
“…like the breaking of a heart. A heart wrapped in layers of ice breaking,” he said. “A block if ice shattering into a thousand crystals and raining, raining down.”
“I can’t… it’s not there anymore. They’re fading.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I repeated quietly. It too, hung between us in the air, sharper this time, not like the spring drizzles, but a harsher, pounding rain. The storms of summer. “Why?”
“If you look harder, you’ll see it inside you. Remember her words - she wanted the boy, but could not take him. Not then. Why?”
“You’ve told me before. Why not now?”
“You need to remember. Just remember. Remember until dawn, when you slip back into her bed, and recall it then. You’ll know everything, then.”
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” I whispered, closing my eyes against his face, and that terrible visage, and try to remember. Her voice, like silk, whispering something to us. But not. Not to me. To him.
“What was it that she told you?” he whispered. “It’s important that you remember.”
“I can’t!” I cried, my voice echoing in the room. “I can’t. I try, but it slips my mind.”
“You know the story. You know it. The mind represses, but the soul never forgets.”
“Please.” It’s not even a whisper, but lower, breathless sort of. Like the silent rising of the stars on a summer night. And it hung between them like the misty breath of a child on a cold winter’s morning. “Please.” Again, and this time a little louder. But still low enough to only be heard by the two, though there was no need for quietness; they were the only two in the room. And still, it hung between them, the words like a soft spring rain. It was not so much I wanted to hear the story, but I feared what would happen once I was left alone in that crystal cave where words hung in the air.
This makes no sense. Based somewhat on the fairytale "The Snow Queen".
“Please.” It’s not even a whisper, but lower, breathless sort of. Like the silent rising of the stars on a summer night. And it hung between us like the misty breath of a child on a cold winter’s morning. “Please.” Again, and this time a little louder. But still low enough to only be heard by the two, though there was no need for quietness; they were the only two in the room. And still, it hung between them, the words like a soft spring rain. It was not so much I wanted to hear the story, but I feared what would happen once I was left alone in that crystal cave where words hung in the air.
“You know the story. You know it. The mind represses, but the soul never forgets.”
“But I don’t remember. Please, just tell it to me once more. I swear I’ll remember this time.”
“You always say that. But you always forget. You should go. The queen will be stirring shortly.”
He looked at me, with his wizened face, an old, old man, one who has seen much and gone through more. He was what I thought Death would look like, were I to ever see Death in person.
“I promise. I’ll remember this time. Just once more.”
“If you look inside, you’ll remember. Try it. It starts with a snowflake.”
It was a struggle to remember anything, but vainly I tried. A snowflake, a white drop of lacy edges and curling patterns, falling, falling….
“It was cold,” I muttered, to myself, although I know he’d hear my words. “So cold. But it didn’t melt like the others…”
“You remember,” he breathed into the silence I left, in my attempt to recall the memories.
“Yes! Yes, I remember. It was so cold and he was there… he… who was he?”
“You’ll know, if you keep looking. He was your friend.”
“Yes, my friend. My best friend.” Lick my lips, and struggle to remember more. We were playing, in the snow, among the snowflakes.
“And she… she came. She came from the snowflake. The one that didn’t melt.”
“Yes,” he said. “She came. And what did she tell you?”
“I, I don’t know. She said something.”
“What was it that she told you?” he whispered. “It’s important that you remember.”
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” I whispered, closing my eyes against his face, and that terrible visage, and try to remember. Her voice, like silk, whispering something to us. But not. Not to me. To him.
“She told us both, but it was meant for him,” I whispered into the room. “It was just meant for him.”
“But if you look inside, you’ll remember her words.” His voice was driving and determined, as though he depended on upon me to remember those words.
“I’m trying,” I said again, sinking to the ground and reaching for his robes. The ends were heavy, wet from being dragged through the snow. The snow… her. That woman, who spoke words only meant for his ears.
“She wanted him,” I whispered. “She wanted him, but he would not go.”
“You’re remembering more. Think harder. Why did she want him? What did she want with him?”
I wrapped my fist into the hem of his robes, finding some sense of strength in them. “She wanted him, because, because… he was… Oh, I don’t know. Please, you tell me. Why?”
“I can’t tell you. You know that.”
“You’ve told me before.”
“Just remember. Remember until dawn, when you slip back into her bed, and recall it then. You’ll know everything, then.”
“But I can’t. I can’t remember. Please, tell me.”
“If you look harder, you’ll see it inside you. Remember her words - she wanted the boy, but could not take him. Not then. Why?”
Close my eyes and grip the robes more firmly, try to search my soul for the answer to his question. Why?
“Why?” I repeated quietly. It too, hung between us in the air, sharper this time, not like the spring drizzles, but a harsher, pounding rain. The storms of summer. “Why?”
“You’ll find it inside you,” he whispered, urgently.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why she wanted him. For some reason…. He refused, and she threatened… There was a sound, a sound like…”
“Like what? Describe it.”
“I don’t… I don’t know. A sound like…”
“…like the breaking of a heart. A heart wrapped in layers of ice breaking,” he said. “A block if ice shattering into a thousand crystals and raining, raining down.”
“She wanted him, and he refused, and she threatened… something… and he went.”
“He went. Where did he go?”
“With her.”
“Where, with her?”
“Somewhere… a dark place. I remember that. The sound, and the dark place.”
“You remember something, then. Just remember her words. Remember her words and everything else will come back.”
“But… I can’t,” I breathed. “I followed them, and he, he was dying, trapped in that dark place. So I… oh, tell me, what did I do?”
“I can’t tell you. You need to remember.”
“He went free, and I was trapped in that dark place with her. With her.”
“The queen will be stirring soon. You need to be back in bed.”
“No! I need to remember. Tell me, please, tell me the story.”
“I can’t tell you. The morning is almost upon us. You need to remember. The sounds, the dark place.”
“Yes, the sounds.”
“…like the breaking of a heart. A heart wrapped in layers of ice breaking,” he said. “A block if ice shattering into a thousand crystals and raining, raining down.”
“I can’t… it’s not there anymore. They’re fading.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I repeated quietly. It too, hung between us in the air, sharper this time, not like the spring drizzles, but a harsher, pounding rain. The storms of summer. “Why?”
“If you look harder, you’ll see it inside you. Remember her words - she wanted the boy, but could not take him. Not then. Why?”
“You’ve told me before. Why not now?”
“You need to remember. Just remember. Remember until dawn, when you slip back into her bed, and recall it then. You’ll know everything, then.”
“I’m trying, I’m trying,” I whispered, closing my eyes against his face, and that terrible visage, and try to remember. Her voice, like silk, whispering something to us. But not. Not to me. To him.
“What was it that she told you?” he whispered. “It’s important that you remember.”
“I can’t!” I cried, my voice echoing in the room. “I can’t. I try, but it slips my mind.”
“You know the story. You know it. The mind represses, but the soul never forgets.”
“Please.” It’s not even a whisper, but lower, breathless sort of. Like the silent rising of the stars on a summer night. And it hung between them like the misty breath of a child on a cold winter’s morning. “Please.” Again, and this time a little louder. But still low enough to only be heard by the two, though there was no need for quietness; they were the only two in the room. And still, it hung between them, the words like a soft spring rain. It was not so much I wanted to hear the story, but I feared what would happen once I was left alone in that crystal cave where words hung in the air.