Post by Kamiri (Ianthe) on Aug 17, 2005 5:14:18 GMT -5
This is a piece I wrote for an English study last year. It's based on a dream I had at the time of the study.
[In her earliest memory, she is three years old and asleep, dreaming. Images flow through her sub-conscious, a story unfolding. “Mama…” the whispered word escapes her lips; her ears hear imaginary voices, speaking in the dark. She sees…
The woman is in a carriage, driving through a dark landscape. She is young, her face lit softly by a lamp. She looks anxious, though determined.
A voice whispers:
“Keep her not against her will,
For then the time must come.
The final journey, death prevail,
The end has now begun…”
A jolt shakes the carriage, and the woman grips he edge of her seat. A hoarse shout sounds from outside, and the carriage begins to move more swiftly, continuing to gain speed. Lifting the curtain, the woman looks out the window, but can see nothing in the blackness of the night except occasional glimpses of passing trees, visible for a brief moment before dissolving back into the dark; can only feel the wild racing of the carriage through the night. She returns to her seat, unsure and afraid.
In her sleep, the girl feels the woman’s fear as strongly as if it is her own. She tosses in her sleep, sensing her own heart’s thunder, echoing in her ears.
The jolting stops abruptly, but is replaced by the sickening feeling of gravity taking hold. The woman is thrown against the window as it suddenly becomes the floor. She moves the curtain again, to reveal an abyss of utter darkness. The carriage is falling, falling downwards to the unknown.
The woman screams, a piercing sound that threads through the child’s sleep. She wakes to find that the scream is coming from her own mouth, shaping a single word: “Mama!” Her father is there immediately, holding her; speaking her name – Tarai; consoling her, but she will not be comforted.
It is at this moment that the girl knows, whole-heartedly, that her mother will not be returning this autumn… or ever again.
The next moment that sticks most clearly in her mind takes place almost a year later. She is five years old, and awake. She is in a carriage with her father. Everything is bright with late summer sun, and she watches the fields passing by outside.
“Tarai...” her father begins, awkward. Immediately he has her full attention. She adores her father, having lived with him for most of her short life without the presence of her mother; she has grown accustomed to being the woman of the house, and the main person in his life.
“How much do you care for your uncle?”
“Which one?” Her face is a picture of concentration as she struggles to make sense of the question.
“Your mother’s brother – the King.”
She thinks for a moment. “He is always nice to me, and gives me presents…” She stares at his face, trying to read his expression to be able to give the required answer.
He notices. “Answer honestly when I ask you an important question Tarai. What would you give for the ability to save your kingdom?”
Fidgeting, she replies “anything I suppose,” and returns to staring out the window, distracted by the changing landscape. Clusters of small houses have begun to replace the open fields, signaling the change from the countryside to the outskirts of the Citadel, and she finds it fascinating.
Her father gazes at her small face, bright with excitement. “That’s what I’m afraid of…” he whispers, but she doesn’t understand.
The next time she remembers, she is dreaming again. She sees…
King Zennon, her uncle stands at the window, glaring out at the sunlit garden, although it is not the scene below that has disturbed him.
“She is too young,” comes the voice of her father, standing somewhere in the shadowed room behind him.
Her uncle turns, eyes becoming accustomed to the dimness within the room. “Nonsense.”
“She doesn’t understand the power she holds.”
Zennon marches across the room. “My sister was younger than she when she took up the position. It’s her duty to serve her kingdom. She must come as soon as possible… now.”
Her father bows his head, submitting, for there is nothing he can do to change this turn of the future. He knows that the King speaks true, for it has been coming for a long time. But he is reluctant to hand over his daughter so soon.
A voice speaks, heard only by the dreamer.
“…When two great forces, equal strength,
Will fight for child’s hand.
Though greatness should bring justice, truth;
Sows discord through the land...”
She is too young to understand the meaning of the dream, but knows that there is something in it that she is meant to recognize. Unsure, she speaks of it to no one, but continues on as she has always done, a happy, innocent child.
This is the moment that her life changes most drastically, for when her father leaves in the carriage, she does not. Her carefree days of childhood have ended. At eight years old she has become The Dreamer, a servant to the Kingdom, although she does not fully understand the momentousness of this position as yet. She does understand that nothing will ever be the same again.
The night air is cold, and she is wrapped up well against the chill. She has spent the last two hours crying softly, finding the unaccustomed isolation from her father, and the unfamiliar surroundings of her new room overwhelming. But the day has been long and tiring, and now she sleeps. She sees…
“She has gone then?” Nurse asks when he arrives home. Her father nods, suddenly looking exhausted. The woman’s face falls.
In sleep, tears run down the girl’s face. For the past seven years this woman has cared for Tarai, as though she were her own child– almost a replacement for the tiny daughter lost to her, gone after barely a week of life. Now Tarai too, has left.
“…Sorrow in the misty night,
Brings mem’ries close to mind.
And though it seems things can’t go on,
The strength is there to find...”
A single tear rolls down the woman’s face, although she has tried her hardest to hold it all back. The father puts a comforting hand on her arm.
“She…she is so young…” The Nurse’s shoulders slump.
He rubs his eyes with his other hand. “I know. And I’m afraid she may cause things… terrible things… without realizing or understanding.” They stand in the hallway in silence, lost in thought of the child they have both cared for for so long… and yet not long enough.
The dream ends, and she rolls over in her sleep, smiling slightly, though sad at the thoughts of the two people she loves so much. She will tell no one of this dream for she considers it too personal – a message for her alone.
She is ten years old, and has been living in the Citadel with her uncle for a year and a half. Living here, her life has taken on a routine much different to that of her father’s house. This morning seems no different to any other: she wakes, washes and dresses, and takes breakfast with her uncle in the sunroom.
He begins the conversation, as usual, with the same words: “And of what did you dream last night, Lady Dreamer?”
The title always makes her feel important and grown-up.
“Let me think,” she says, enjoying the attention of not only her uncle the King, but also of the many advisors, workers, and guests around the room. “Oh yes. The strangest thing happened. I was a home… at my father’s house, in the morning room with Nurse when I heard my father talking to someone. I went to see who it was…”
“And? Who was it?” Her uncle prompts eagerly, chin propped on one hand, breakfast forgotten.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.”
“Well what did they say then?”
“They were talking about how many men had been recruited…”
“Recruited?” He speaks to himself, looking thoughtful. She has been forgotten, along with the breakfast. He calls to one of his advisors, and leaves the table quickly.
“…to help with the summer harvest…” she finishes quietly, forlornly. But her words fall, lost in the suddenly empty room. Sighing, she finishes eating; having decided the matter has nothing to do with her, and is therefore unimportant.
This time when she dreams there are no images. Only the voice whispers in the dark.
“…But words be spoken and with haste,
The rival is brought to heel.
Twisted meanings, hidden in shame
He will be forced to kneel...”
It is not much later that she sees her father again. But this meeting is much different to the last. He stands, dejected; beaten between two guards.
“Papa!” She cries, running to him, but is held back.
He glances at her with great sorrow in his eyes, and…something else. She does not know its meaning.
Her uncle arrives, and both disappear into a room. She wishes to follow; to understand. But the door shuts in her face.
Later that day, there is a scaffolding built in the main square of the Citadel. She knows that somehow her father is involved from the way the people whisper behind their hands in dark corners, yet fall silent when she approaches. There is a tension in the air, a feeling of something wrong coming. She waits.
It is later still when a group of many people prepare to leave the Palace in the Citadel centre. She begs her uncle to be allowed to go too, to have a chance to understand what is happening to her world. He is reluctant, but gives in to her pleading. It is in the main square that she sees her father again; on the scaffold; kneeling over a block. Immediately, it becomes clear. Her father is going to leave her too… and it is somehow her fault. A piercing scream escapes her lips as the sword swings high, and she covers her face with her hands, turning away.
After that day, her dreams turn darker, forbidding. She wakes every night, sweating and shaking, afraid. Often, it is the sound of a scream that wakens her, a scream which somehow belongs to her mother, father and herself all at once. It haunts her with guilt for a crime she will not understand for many years to come.
Many years later, she has changed. She is married now, with a young daughter of her own. She visits them every autumn for a few weeks, but her position keeps her away from home more than she would like. She feels trapped by what she is. She dreams the same thing every night. There are no images, only that whispered voice, repeating the same lines:
“…For death to come at such young age,
Reflections may repeat.
And time will take a turn until
The circle is complete.”
She worries about the meaning of the words, imagining that it speaks of her daughter. She makes up her mind: when she leaves this autumn, she will not return. It is her duty to make sure her daughter is kept safe…
In her earliest memory, she is four years old and asleep, dreaming. Images flow through her sub-conscious, a story unfolding. “Mama…” the whispered word escapes her lips; her ears hear imaginary voices, speaking in the dark. She sees…
The woman is in a carriage, driving through a dark landscape. She is young, her face lit softly by a lamp. She looks anxious, though determined.
A voice whispers:
“Keep her not against her will,
For then the time must come.
The final journey, death prevail,
The end has now begun…”
A jolt shakes the carriage, and the woman grips he edge of her seat. A hoarse shout sounds from outside, and the carriage begins to move more swiftly, continuing to gain speed. Lifting the curtain, the woman looks out the window, but can see nothing in the blackness of the night except occasional glimpses of passing trees, visible for a brief moment before dissolving back into the dark; can only feel the wild racing of the carriage through the night. She returns to her seat, unsure and afraid.
In her sleep, the girl feels the woman’s fear as strongly as if it is her own. She tosses in her sleep, sensing her own heart’s thunder, echoing in her ears.
The jolting stops abruptly, but is replaced by the sickening feeling of gravity taking hold. The woman is thrown against the window as it suddenly becomes the floor. She moves the curtain again, to reveal an abyss of utter darkness. The carriage is falling, falling downwards to the unknown.
The woman screams, a piercing sound that threads through the child’s sleep. She wakes to find that the scream is coming from her own mouth, shaping a single word: “Mama!” Her father is there immediately, holding her; speaking her name – Lianna; consoling her, but she will not be comforted.
It is at this moment that the girl knows, whole-heartedly, that her mother will not be returning this autumn… or ever again.[/i]
…The circle is complete…
[/color]
[In her earliest memory, she is three years old and asleep, dreaming. Images flow through her sub-conscious, a story unfolding. “Mama…” the whispered word escapes her lips; her ears hear imaginary voices, speaking in the dark. She sees…
The woman is in a carriage, driving through a dark landscape. She is young, her face lit softly by a lamp. She looks anxious, though determined.
A voice whispers:
“Keep her not against her will,
For then the time must come.
The final journey, death prevail,
The end has now begun…”
A jolt shakes the carriage, and the woman grips he edge of her seat. A hoarse shout sounds from outside, and the carriage begins to move more swiftly, continuing to gain speed. Lifting the curtain, the woman looks out the window, but can see nothing in the blackness of the night except occasional glimpses of passing trees, visible for a brief moment before dissolving back into the dark; can only feel the wild racing of the carriage through the night. She returns to her seat, unsure and afraid.
In her sleep, the girl feels the woman’s fear as strongly as if it is her own. She tosses in her sleep, sensing her own heart’s thunder, echoing in her ears.
The jolting stops abruptly, but is replaced by the sickening feeling of gravity taking hold. The woman is thrown against the window as it suddenly becomes the floor. She moves the curtain again, to reveal an abyss of utter darkness. The carriage is falling, falling downwards to the unknown.
The woman screams, a piercing sound that threads through the child’s sleep. She wakes to find that the scream is coming from her own mouth, shaping a single word: “Mama!” Her father is there immediately, holding her; speaking her name – Tarai; consoling her, but she will not be comforted.
It is at this moment that the girl knows, whole-heartedly, that her mother will not be returning this autumn… or ever again.
The next moment that sticks most clearly in her mind takes place almost a year later. She is five years old, and awake. She is in a carriage with her father. Everything is bright with late summer sun, and she watches the fields passing by outside.
“Tarai...” her father begins, awkward. Immediately he has her full attention. She adores her father, having lived with him for most of her short life without the presence of her mother; she has grown accustomed to being the woman of the house, and the main person in his life.
“How much do you care for your uncle?”
“Which one?” Her face is a picture of concentration as she struggles to make sense of the question.
“Your mother’s brother – the King.”
She thinks for a moment. “He is always nice to me, and gives me presents…” She stares at his face, trying to read his expression to be able to give the required answer.
He notices. “Answer honestly when I ask you an important question Tarai. What would you give for the ability to save your kingdom?”
Fidgeting, she replies “anything I suppose,” and returns to staring out the window, distracted by the changing landscape. Clusters of small houses have begun to replace the open fields, signaling the change from the countryside to the outskirts of the Citadel, and she finds it fascinating.
Her father gazes at her small face, bright with excitement. “That’s what I’m afraid of…” he whispers, but she doesn’t understand.
The next time she remembers, she is dreaming again. She sees…
King Zennon, her uncle stands at the window, glaring out at the sunlit garden, although it is not the scene below that has disturbed him.
“She is too young,” comes the voice of her father, standing somewhere in the shadowed room behind him.
Her uncle turns, eyes becoming accustomed to the dimness within the room. “Nonsense.”
“She doesn’t understand the power she holds.”
Zennon marches across the room. “My sister was younger than she when she took up the position. It’s her duty to serve her kingdom. She must come as soon as possible… now.”
Her father bows his head, submitting, for there is nothing he can do to change this turn of the future. He knows that the King speaks true, for it has been coming for a long time. But he is reluctant to hand over his daughter so soon.
A voice speaks, heard only by the dreamer.
“…When two great forces, equal strength,
Will fight for child’s hand.
Though greatness should bring justice, truth;
Sows discord through the land...”
She is too young to understand the meaning of the dream, but knows that there is something in it that she is meant to recognize. Unsure, she speaks of it to no one, but continues on as she has always done, a happy, innocent child.
This is the moment that her life changes most drastically, for when her father leaves in the carriage, she does not. Her carefree days of childhood have ended. At eight years old she has become The Dreamer, a servant to the Kingdom, although she does not fully understand the momentousness of this position as yet. She does understand that nothing will ever be the same again.
The night air is cold, and she is wrapped up well against the chill. She has spent the last two hours crying softly, finding the unaccustomed isolation from her father, and the unfamiliar surroundings of her new room overwhelming. But the day has been long and tiring, and now she sleeps. She sees…
“She has gone then?” Nurse asks when he arrives home. Her father nods, suddenly looking exhausted. The woman’s face falls.
In sleep, tears run down the girl’s face. For the past seven years this woman has cared for Tarai, as though she were her own child– almost a replacement for the tiny daughter lost to her, gone after barely a week of life. Now Tarai too, has left.
“…Sorrow in the misty night,
Brings mem’ries close to mind.
And though it seems things can’t go on,
The strength is there to find...”
A single tear rolls down the woman’s face, although she has tried her hardest to hold it all back. The father puts a comforting hand on her arm.
“She…she is so young…” The Nurse’s shoulders slump.
He rubs his eyes with his other hand. “I know. And I’m afraid she may cause things… terrible things… without realizing or understanding.” They stand in the hallway in silence, lost in thought of the child they have both cared for for so long… and yet not long enough.
The dream ends, and she rolls over in her sleep, smiling slightly, though sad at the thoughts of the two people she loves so much. She will tell no one of this dream for she considers it too personal – a message for her alone.
She is ten years old, and has been living in the Citadel with her uncle for a year and a half. Living here, her life has taken on a routine much different to that of her father’s house. This morning seems no different to any other: she wakes, washes and dresses, and takes breakfast with her uncle in the sunroom.
He begins the conversation, as usual, with the same words: “And of what did you dream last night, Lady Dreamer?”
The title always makes her feel important and grown-up.
“Let me think,” she says, enjoying the attention of not only her uncle the King, but also of the many advisors, workers, and guests around the room. “Oh yes. The strangest thing happened. I was a home… at my father’s house, in the morning room with Nurse when I heard my father talking to someone. I went to see who it was…”
“And? Who was it?” Her uncle prompts eagerly, chin propped on one hand, breakfast forgotten.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before.”
“Well what did they say then?”
“They were talking about how many men had been recruited…”
“Recruited?” He speaks to himself, looking thoughtful. She has been forgotten, along with the breakfast. He calls to one of his advisors, and leaves the table quickly.
“…to help with the summer harvest…” she finishes quietly, forlornly. But her words fall, lost in the suddenly empty room. Sighing, she finishes eating; having decided the matter has nothing to do with her, and is therefore unimportant.
This time when she dreams there are no images. Only the voice whispers in the dark.
“…But words be spoken and with haste,
The rival is brought to heel.
Twisted meanings, hidden in shame
He will be forced to kneel...”
It is not much later that she sees her father again. But this meeting is much different to the last. He stands, dejected; beaten between two guards.
“Papa!” She cries, running to him, but is held back.
He glances at her with great sorrow in his eyes, and…something else. She does not know its meaning.
Her uncle arrives, and both disappear into a room. She wishes to follow; to understand. But the door shuts in her face.
Later that day, there is a scaffolding built in the main square of the Citadel. She knows that somehow her father is involved from the way the people whisper behind their hands in dark corners, yet fall silent when she approaches. There is a tension in the air, a feeling of something wrong coming. She waits.
It is later still when a group of many people prepare to leave the Palace in the Citadel centre. She begs her uncle to be allowed to go too, to have a chance to understand what is happening to her world. He is reluctant, but gives in to her pleading. It is in the main square that she sees her father again; on the scaffold; kneeling over a block. Immediately, it becomes clear. Her father is going to leave her too… and it is somehow her fault. A piercing scream escapes her lips as the sword swings high, and she covers her face with her hands, turning away.
After that day, her dreams turn darker, forbidding. She wakes every night, sweating and shaking, afraid. Often, it is the sound of a scream that wakens her, a scream which somehow belongs to her mother, father and herself all at once. It haunts her with guilt for a crime she will not understand for many years to come.
Many years later, she has changed. She is married now, with a young daughter of her own. She visits them every autumn for a few weeks, but her position keeps her away from home more than she would like. She feels trapped by what she is. She dreams the same thing every night. There are no images, only that whispered voice, repeating the same lines:
“…For death to come at such young age,
Reflections may repeat.
And time will take a turn until
The circle is complete.”
She worries about the meaning of the words, imagining that it speaks of her daughter. She makes up her mind: when she leaves this autumn, she will not return. It is her duty to make sure her daughter is kept safe…
In her earliest memory, she is four years old and asleep, dreaming. Images flow through her sub-conscious, a story unfolding. “Mama…” the whispered word escapes her lips; her ears hear imaginary voices, speaking in the dark. She sees…
The woman is in a carriage, driving through a dark landscape. She is young, her face lit softly by a lamp. She looks anxious, though determined.
A voice whispers:
“Keep her not against her will,
For then the time must come.
The final journey, death prevail,
The end has now begun…”
A jolt shakes the carriage, and the woman grips he edge of her seat. A hoarse shout sounds from outside, and the carriage begins to move more swiftly, continuing to gain speed. Lifting the curtain, the woman looks out the window, but can see nothing in the blackness of the night except occasional glimpses of passing trees, visible for a brief moment before dissolving back into the dark; can only feel the wild racing of the carriage through the night. She returns to her seat, unsure and afraid.
In her sleep, the girl feels the woman’s fear as strongly as if it is her own. She tosses in her sleep, sensing her own heart’s thunder, echoing in her ears.
The jolting stops abruptly, but is replaced by the sickening feeling of gravity taking hold. The woman is thrown against the window as it suddenly becomes the floor. She moves the curtain again, to reveal an abyss of utter darkness. The carriage is falling, falling downwards to the unknown.
The woman screams, a piercing sound that threads through the child’s sleep. She wakes to find that the scream is coming from her own mouth, shaping a single word: “Mama!” Her father is there immediately, holding her; speaking her name – Lianna; consoling her, but she will not be comforted.
It is at this moment that the girl knows, whole-heartedly, that her mother will not be returning this autumn… or ever again.[/i]
…The circle is complete…
[/color]
