(no subject)
A/N: Prompt: Write/Wright/Right/Rite
Millennia
Even after two months at her new job and staying at an apartment with a completely new layout, Ellen still could not quite banish the nightmares. “I can’t simply write them down,” she complained to Cassandra over the phone one night. “You know what they say about jotting down your dreams.”
“That it will make them come true? That’s an urban legend,” Cassandra’s melodious voice scoffed at the other end of the line. “Besides if you say you dream of the past or some time before we were born, there is no harm that can still be done. “
Ellen sighed. “You’re right. I can’t believe I’m being bothered by the random firings of my brain.” Unlike her other friends, she had never been one to place too much importance on the subconscious or anything that sounded remotely occult. ‘So much that teachers used to say that I didn’t have any sort of imagination since I preferred numbers,’ she thought.
“Consider it a stress release,” Cassandra said cheerily. “A pensieve if you will.”
“Yes since you guys aren’t around to pester me out of silence.”
“Listening is more like it.”
“True,” Ellen said, glancing at the clock on her desk. To her dismay, the time read 6:50, a fact which was confirmed by the almost total absence of daylight in the window. “I’ve got to hang up in a bit. I have a meeting tonight,” she said apologetically.
“You mean a date?” Cassandra teased.
Ellen cringed, knowing that her former foster sister had caught on. “Nothing romantic. I’m just hanging out with one of the guys from the office.”
“Famous last words, Ellen,” Cassandra said. “Tell me more about it tomorrow, Elle.”
“Alright. Bye Cas,” Ellen said before the line clicked and went dead. She shook her head as she replaced the phone in its cradle. Even after all these weeks she still found it difficult to shake the sense that her friends were disappointed with her for abruptly leaving to take a job in another city. ‘Maybe because I never could give a proper reason for it,’ she thought as she went over to check her appearance one last time in a mirror. Then again perhaps there was no proper reason; it was impossible to say out loud that she had to get away from her ex-boyfriend, teach her former foster sister to stand on her own, and figure out the aggravating puzzle that was her best friend.
She could only hope that they would understand some day.
By the time Ellen found her purse and packed her keys, her phone, tissue, her wallet and a few other necessities, the clock read 6:55. ‘Theo better be on time,’ she thought as she sat on her convertible sofa. She bit her lip, remembering her dashing officemate’s reputation for unpunctuality; he’d even had the audacity once to show up late for a meeting involving their supervisor in the programming department. ‘Thirty minutes. That’s all I’m giving him,’ she resolved as she looked around for something to do. Since she had yet to get herself a television set, and she was not in the mood to reread a book or check her mail, she located a paper and a pen.
“Where do I begin?” she wondered aloud. The first word was always the most difficult one for her. Unlike most of her friends, who had the power of wit at their beck and call, she always struggled to string her thoughts together. ‘No one is going to read it,’ she reminded herself.
Unfortunately the first thing that came to mind was a poor take off on a lyric: ‘I wish I could say I loved you for a thousand years,’ she wrote down before quickly striking it out. She groaned as she looked at the ruined sheet. Not only was it cheesy and far too often linked to the fantasies of teenage girls, she knew that it simply wasn’t true; there was more than a millennium in her dreams. She tore off the top of the sheet before continuing:
‘Seeing all of you was déjà vu from the get-go. I guess I’ve always known that on some level we were destined to get along. I’m not sure how I know this; no one talked about it in the homes that I grew up in. I didn’t even think of any good explanation to it till I got to university. Even then the entire thing about past lives and all sounds weird, since one has to go through some hypnosis to access these things. The thing is I see things in dreams, times we never could have been to.
In my dreams, Cas, you are always my sister in some way. Not always by birth; we look too different for that. You’re always the one I meet first, in the same house, in the same school, the same sisterhood in some cases. You’re either my teacher or my fellow initiate. I don’t know why it sounds so much like a cult, but can I complain when I’ve dreamed us both as geishas in Kyoto, when I’ve curled up at your side in crowded barracks, when I lied to save you from the guards at Auschwitz? You did similar things for me too in dreams; you threw me a key to get out of a cell, you shared with me the last bit of bread many a time and again, and I think you’ve even looked me up on lists of missing persons. I guess these dreams are part of familiarity since we did literally grow up together from home to home.
Macky....what can I say to you, Macky? I always end up with you somehow, or wanting to end up with you. Yet I know that it’s always a stupid, crazy thing for you and me; like an ill fitting pair of shoes, like sandpaper on sandpaper. We look and act alike but it never goes right. I’m not just writing this because you’re my ex and I’m still mad that you never gave me back my quilt. You’re good for me in a way but it’s never quite what I need. Or even really want. You’re the one I see with me and Cas in various situations, but you’re not always brave enough to stay. You flee first, every single time, or someone has to nearly break his or her neck to save you. I don’t know why it’s that way, when I have seen that you’re usually so much braver and surer. Maybe you’re learning, if this is really a past life scenario.
Antoine, you’re the biggest problem I have there. I’m not sure why I always end up looking to you, maybe even liking you. Maybe more than liking you. You’re always the tragic one, the one who starts out brightest and yet ends with the most ignominy. You go with me down into the pit and never come out. It’s always that way. We end up missing each other a lot; I see you, you don’t see me. You love me and I marry someone else. You’re always a fighter (and I’m not saying that because of all the times you’ve stuck out for me). I guess I dream of you always in a battle or struggle because I’ve never seen you live life otherwise. Maybe that’s always how you’ve been---‘
Ellen put down her pen and buried her face in her hands. Would writing down what was on her mind somehow call down a particular fate on him? Yet it was all in the past. What harm could be done?
The clock read 7:03pm. She took a deep breath and picked up her pen again.
‘It’s either you watch me die, or I see you die. Why does it never change?’
Millennia
Even after two months at her new job and staying at an apartment with a completely new layout, Ellen still could not quite banish the nightmares. “I can’t simply write them down,” she complained to Cassandra over the phone one night. “You know what they say about jotting down your dreams.”
“That it will make them come true? That’s an urban legend,” Cassandra’s melodious voice scoffed at the other end of the line. “Besides if you say you dream of the past or some time before we were born, there is no harm that can still be done. “
Ellen sighed. “You’re right. I can’t believe I’m being bothered by the random firings of my brain.” Unlike her other friends, she had never been one to place too much importance on the subconscious or anything that sounded remotely occult. ‘So much that teachers used to say that I didn’t have any sort of imagination since I preferred numbers,’ she thought.
“Consider it a stress release,” Cassandra said cheerily. “A pensieve if you will.”
“Yes since you guys aren’t around to pester me out of silence.”
“Listening is more like it.”
“True,” Ellen said, glancing at the clock on her desk. To her dismay, the time read 6:50, a fact which was confirmed by the almost total absence of daylight in the window. “I’ve got to hang up in a bit. I have a meeting tonight,” she said apologetically.
“You mean a date?” Cassandra teased.
Ellen cringed, knowing that her former foster sister had caught on. “Nothing romantic. I’m just hanging out with one of the guys from the office.”
“Famous last words, Ellen,” Cassandra said. “Tell me more about it tomorrow, Elle.”
“Alright. Bye Cas,” Ellen said before the line clicked and went dead. She shook her head as she replaced the phone in its cradle. Even after all these weeks she still found it difficult to shake the sense that her friends were disappointed with her for abruptly leaving to take a job in another city. ‘Maybe because I never could give a proper reason for it,’ she thought as she went over to check her appearance one last time in a mirror. Then again perhaps there was no proper reason; it was impossible to say out loud that she had to get away from her ex-boyfriend, teach her former foster sister to stand on her own, and figure out the aggravating puzzle that was her best friend.
She could only hope that they would understand some day.
By the time Ellen found her purse and packed her keys, her phone, tissue, her wallet and a few other necessities, the clock read 6:55. ‘Theo better be on time,’ she thought as she sat on her convertible sofa. She bit her lip, remembering her dashing officemate’s reputation for unpunctuality; he’d even had the audacity once to show up late for a meeting involving their supervisor in the programming department. ‘Thirty minutes. That’s all I’m giving him,’ she resolved as she looked around for something to do. Since she had yet to get herself a television set, and she was not in the mood to reread a book or check her mail, she located a paper and a pen.
“Where do I begin?” she wondered aloud. The first word was always the most difficult one for her. Unlike most of her friends, who had the power of wit at their beck and call, she always struggled to string her thoughts together. ‘No one is going to read it,’ she reminded herself.
Unfortunately the first thing that came to mind was a poor take off on a lyric: ‘I wish I could say I loved you for a thousand years,’ she wrote down before quickly striking it out. She groaned as she looked at the ruined sheet. Not only was it cheesy and far too often linked to the fantasies of teenage girls, she knew that it simply wasn’t true; there was more than a millennium in her dreams. She tore off the top of the sheet before continuing:
‘Seeing all of you was déjà vu from the get-go. I guess I’ve always known that on some level we were destined to get along. I’m not sure how I know this; no one talked about it in the homes that I grew up in. I didn’t even think of any good explanation to it till I got to university. Even then the entire thing about past lives and all sounds weird, since one has to go through some hypnosis to access these things. The thing is I see things in dreams, times we never could have been to.
In my dreams, Cas, you are always my sister in some way. Not always by birth; we look too different for that. You’re always the one I meet first, in the same house, in the same school, the same sisterhood in some cases. You’re either my teacher or my fellow initiate. I don’t know why it sounds so much like a cult, but can I complain when I’ve dreamed us both as geishas in Kyoto, when I’ve curled up at your side in crowded barracks, when I lied to save you from the guards at Auschwitz? You did similar things for me too in dreams; you threw me a key to get out of a cell, you shared with me the last bit of bread many a time and again, and I think you’ve even looked me up on lists of missing persons. I guess these dreams are part of familiarity since we did literally grow up together from home to home.
Macky....what can I say to you, Macky? I always end up with you somehow, or wanting to end up with you. Yet I know that it’s always a stupid, crazy thing for you and me; like an ill fitting pair of shoes, like sandpaper on sandpaper. We look and act alike but it never goes right. I’m not just writing this because you’re my ex and I’m still mad that you never gave me back my quilt. You’re good for me in a way but it’s never quite what I need. Or even really want. You’re the one I see with me and Cas in various situations, but you’re not always brave enough to stay. You flee first, every single time, or someone has to nearly break his or her neck to save you. I don’t know why it’s that way, when I have seen that you’re usually so much braver and surer. Maybe you’re learning, if this is really a past life scenario.
Antoine, you’re the biggest problem I have there. I’m not sure why I always end up looking to you, maybe even liking you. Maybe more than liking you. You’re always the tragic one, the one who starts out brightest and yet ends with the most ignominy. You go with me down into the pit and never come out. It’s always that way. We end up missing each other a lot; I see you, you don’t see me. You love me and I marry someone else. You’re always a fighter (and I’m not saying that because of all the times you’ve stuck out for me). I guess I dream of you always in a battle or struggle because I’ve never seen you live life otherwise. Maybe that’s always how you’ve been---‘
Ellen put down her pen and buried her face in her hands. Would writing down what was on her mind somehow call down a particular fate on him? Yet it was all in the past. What harm could be done?
The clock read 7:03pm. She took a deep breath and picked up her pen again.
‘It’s either you watch me die, or I see you die. Why does it never change?’