(no subject)
I think I've begun dreaming. I don't seem to be able to control the images or narrative of my trance, at any rate. Lady Baylor has suggested that I write them down.
The sun is high in a sky the color of blue star morning glories. A vast white field rolls out before and behind me, reaching beyond the horizon. The field shimmers as ivory stalks wave despite the still wind, beckoning to me. The ground beneath my bare feet crackles as I step out among the grass. When I walk, the spikelets that catch in my dress aren't the heads of any grass I know. I pluck them from the fabric and feel the strange seeds roll in my palm, hard and round and segmented; they break apart at the segments. I bring them close to my face to examine them. My eyes focus first on the unusual seeds which seem familiar. They then shift up the slightest and notice the rest of my hand and the connection is made. They are the bones of a finger, and the grass is a thousand, a thousand thousand fleshless, lifeless arms swirling around me without motive.
I begin to run. I run past hills and valleys blanketed with dead arms reaching for nothing, until my chest burns and my hands shake and every breath is a terrible labor. I take refuge in a stand of white trees at the bottom of a valley. I collapse at the roots of a tree, clench my eyes against it all, and the horror of the meaningless dead escapes me in great, gasping sobs.
After a time, a gentle, warm rain begins to fall. At first it's comforting; it feels almost like home, nestled at the base of life during a summer storm. But the rain is slightly too warm, it coats too well, and it begins to smell of rust and salt as it accumulates. I open my eyes and the white world is streaked with ugly red as the rain pours out onto it.
I try to get closer to the trunk, to hide beneath the leaves, but the tree is bare. The rain gets harder and begins to puddle around my feet. The blood has already soaked my hair and clothes. I realize that I saw no outlet when I entered the valley--there's a chance it will flood. Reluctantly leaving the slight cover of the tree, I try to climb out of the valley only to find that the gentle hills have become impossible cliffs. As I dash back to the trees, the warm tide encompasses my ankles. The only higher ground left me is the branches, so I begin to climb.
The trees are blood-slicked bone under my hands and feet. I fall back twice and the blood is up to my waist. Finally, I find purchase on a great arc of bone and haul myself up, but the surface is rising just behind me. I try to get farther up, but the drenched and heavy skirts of my dress catch in the tree. I tear at it to dislodge it and try to slip out of it altogether, but where it isn't slippery it's adhesive and I'm engulfed. I open my eyes, but they burn and there's nothing to see. I panic and swallow some of the blood, then convulse and try to vomit it out. As I retch, I inhale more blood. I can feel it everywhere, on me and in me, choking and crushing me.
Then I open my eyes and fling the blankets away. Everything smells like blood until it smells like smoke again. I vomit into my chamber pot and sit until I can't stand to be alone with my heartbeat, then I get dressed in the loosest, lightest clothes I can find and go check on Kye.
Is having a record of my madness supposed to benefit me or you, Baylor?
The sun is high in a sky the color of blue star morning glories. A vast white field rolls out before and behind me, reaching beyond the horizon. The field shimmers as ivory stalks wave despite the still wind, beckoning to me. The ground beneath my bare feet crackles as I step out among the grass. When I walk, the spikelets that catch in my dress aren't the heads of any grass I know. I pluck them from the fabric and feel the strange seeds roll in my palm, hard and round and segmented; they break apart at the segments. I bring them close to my face to examine them. My eyes focus first on the unusual seeds which seem familiar. They then shift up the slightest and notice the rest of my hand and the connection is made. They are the bones of a finger, and the grass is a thousand, a thousand thousand fleshless, lifeless arms swirling around me without motive.
I begin to run. I run past hills and valleys blanketed with dead arms reaching for nothing, until my chest burns and my hands shake and every breath is a terrible labor. I take refuge in a stand of white trees at the bottom of a valley. I collapse at the roots of a tree, clench my eyes against it all, and the horror of the meaningless dead escapes me in great, gasping sobs.
After a time, a gentle, warm rain begins to fall. At first it's comforting; it feels almost like home, nestled at the base of life during a summer storm. But the rain is slightly too warm, it coats too well, and it begins to smell of rust and salt as it accumulates. I open my eyes and the white world is streaked with ugly red as the rain pours out onto it.
I try to get closer to the trunk, to hide beneath the leaves, but the tree is bare. The rain gets harder and begins to puddle around my feet. The blood has already soaked my hair and clothes. I realize that I saw no outlet when I entered the valley--there's a chance it will flood. Reluctantly leaving the slight cover of the tree, I try to climb out of the valley only to find that the gentle hills have become impossible cliffs. As I dash back to the trees, the warm tide encompasses my ankles. The only higher ground left me is the branches, so I begin to climb.
The trees are blood-slicked bone under my hands and feet. I fall back twice and the blood is up to my waist. Finally, I find purchase on a great arc of bone and haul myself up, but the surface is rising just behind me. I try to get farther up, but the drenched and heavy skirts of my dress catch in the tree. I tear at it to dislodge it and try to slip out of it altogether, but where it isn't slippery it's adhesive and I'm engulfed. I open my eyes, but they burn and there's nothing to see. I panic and swallow some of the blood, then convulse and try to vomit it out. As I retch, I inhale more blood. I can feel it everywhere, on me and in me, choking and crushing me.
Then I open my eyes and fling the blankets away. Everything smells like blood until it smells like smoke again. I vomit into my chamber pot and sit until I can't stand to be alone with my heartbeat, then I get dressed in the loosest, lightest clothes I can find and go check on Kye.
Is having a record of my madness supposed to benefit me or you, Baylor?