Post by RaineScarlet on Nov 21, 2009 12:28:14 GMT 8
>>_Commencing Dream Sequence...
---
The stairs kept going on and on. When she lifted her eyes to find the summit, her eyes closed. For whatever reason, she couldn’t see what was beyond these few steps.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll get there when I get there.
She kept going, one step at a time. She never got tired—her body felt as light as air. And then, as she had intuited, the stairs ended abruptly. A genderless voice applauded her.
“Well done for making it this far.”
They were only stairs. I always take the stairs.
She was finally allowed to look up. A hallway of clouds stretched before her, even though the ground felt perfectly solid to her as she walked. There were doors on both sides of the hallway, numbered 301, 302, 303, and so on, with odd numbers on the left, even numbers on the right. They seemed to be floating in midair, independent of walls, but she knew that if she opened a door, there would be something different behind each.
She turned 180 degrees, trying to find the speaker, but there was no one to be found. It was a bit unsettling, but not that much.
“This is a different world, you know. Can you handle it?” The voice asked.
Of course. When have I not been able to handle anything?
“Good answer. But you’re going to have to be open-minded if you want to make it through intact.”
Then, unexpectedly, a door handle materialized before her. Is this what the voice meant by “handle,” She thought dryly. Bad pun. She could hear whispers of a hearty laughter resound about her.
Only now did she notice that none of the doors in the hallway had handles. Apparently, she was supposed to match the two in order to proceed. As she progressed along the hall, she shot each handle-less door and cursory glance and moved on when the shape was wrong. Light mist billowed up around her ankles, but the floor remained thankfully solid.
“Open-minded.” The voice reminded—or warned. She couldn’t tell anything from this voice. But the reminder—or warning—meant nothing to her. She continued to search with her sharp eyes until she found a matching shape.
“Oh well.”
The door opened. She was surprised to find herself looking into her old apartment. A quick glance behind told her that the cloudy hallway had disappeared, replaced with her old neighborhood.
Her mother was sitting at the table, rocking back and forth and murmuring. Her grandmother was sitting on a cushion and meditating in the opposite corner. The apartment wasn’t big. The two adults shared the bedroom—the girl slept in a sleeping bag located in the main room. The kitchen and dining room were connected to the main room, making the place effectively two rooms.
She made for her sleeping bag, the way she always did first thing she got home. It was the only personal space she had in the apartment, and her mother never let her stay out for too long.
“Kris…” her mother moaned, “Kris…”
She ignored her mother’s calls. It had become something like a background noise after all these years. Her grandmother was ignoring the calls as well, sitting there in silence. As Kris glanced over at her grandmother, she did a double take. The strict, conservative old woman was now dressed in a white skirt with more frills than she could count. There were ribbons at the hems, and small jewel ornaments in her hair, which was mostly covered with a white bowler hat. It didn’t look right at all.
“Oba-sa—” She started calling her grandmother in Japanese, but her mother interrupted with a screech.
“KRIS! KRIS, WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME?!”
The girl’s head snapped over to her mother’s hunched over figure. This would be first serious tantrum in a while. The last one had been right after Leon’s death. Kris had barely managed to get away with her all bones intact.
“Mother,” She began in English this time, because her mother preferred that, “I’m listening.”
“Kris, Kris,” she continued to sob, “Look at me… look at me…”
“I’m looking, Mother,” Kris replied cautiously, still crouching by her sleeping bag. What has gotten into her?
Her mother turned around, and Kris stopped breathing. The woman had hollows for eyes, and there was something pink and blue steadily oozing out of them. The front of her shirt was also covered in blood and a strange oily liquid.
“My brain is damaged!” The woman wailed. “KRIS, HELP ME!” Her wail rose into an unbearable shriek. She stood up, swayed, and then moved towards to Kris.
The girl finally remembered how to move and sprinted for the door. Oh gods, oh gods, oh g— Someone—or something—caught her by the collar, and yanked her back. Kris would have screamed if she had not been busy choking. Whoever caught her grabbed her around the waist and held her firmly in place.
“Didn’t you hear your poor mother?” Grandmother. “Her brain is damaged. Why don’t you comfort her, you ingrate?!” The old woman’s voice turned rough and malicious at the end. Kris gasped and whimpered, trying to break free, but her grandmother was inhumanly strong.
“Someone... stop…help…Mother…” The girl cried, trying to escape from the old woman’s iron grip.
“Do you want someone to help you, or someone to help your mother? A quiet voice whispered in her mind. “What is it that you want?"
And then the eye-less woman fell on her. Kris screamed louder than she ever had in her life. “NO! GET OFF!”
“Kris… my Kris…” Her voice was muffled in the folds of her daughter’s clothing.
The girl could feel liquid seeping through her clothes and down her waist. She whimpered in agony, but neither woman could be detached. Her mother moaned again. Kris realized, sickeningly, that the pink and blue substance oozing out was the brain. Parts of it were breaking off and sticking to her shirt…
Someone, anyone, let me out… Kris prayed. Her heart couldn’t possibly beat any more violently. She was trembling and also struggling at the same time. The door was open—why did no one come?
And then three gunshots rang out. The weight on her chest and her back fell away. The room had gotten dark, and there was a spotlight on her, alone. She took a few shaky breaths as an attempt to calm herself and peered blindly into the darkness, to no avail. She couldn’t even see the two bodies that were previously so close to her. A shiver crept down her spine at the memory.
What was going on?
“A weapon mustn’t be used to hurt other’s Kris. I told you that.” She knew this voice. It was her sensei.
“I d-didn’t—” Her voice was shaking, so she took another breath. “I didn’t kill them.”
“Your desire killed them.”
“No, that’s…”
What do you want, Kris?
The darkness abated almost at once, and she found herself in a field of red flowers. Kris blinked several times, trying to get used to the sudden influx of light. Scarlet petals fluttered in the light breeze. Several got stuck on her shirt, which was still slick from before, making flower shapes on her chest. She didn’t have the stomach to brush them off—that meant touching the liquid as well.
There was someone else in the field of flowers with her. He was lying on the ground some ways away.
“Daddy?” Her voice lifted hopefully. She hadn’t seen him in so long—seeing him in the nightmarish world was a relief. She stumbled until she was kneeling by the man’s side.
Sure enough, it was Leon. His dark orange hair curled around his aged face. There were lines that didn’t used to be there, but he still looked the same, with the round chin, pointed nose, and twinkling green eyes. The eyes that they shared. Leon smiled warmly at her from his position on the ground. He seemed to be enjoying the flowerbed in his own way. Kris managed a smile in return—she was not quite recovered from the previous event, but seeing her father had caused a happy feeling of warmth to bloom inside her.
“Hi,” he said meekly. He had always been at her mother’s beck and call, which caused him to treat his daughter similarly. Kris loved her father though.
“Hi.” She replied.
“Would you like some flowers? I’ve been growing them,” He waved an arm over the entire field, but didn’t budge otherwise.
“They’re beautiful, Daddy.”
“Yes… Mariko would love them.” Kris flinched at the mention of her mother. Did he know?
“Why don’t you give these to her? I put all my heart into these.” Leon pointed to three flowers whose stems were stuck into his shirt.
Kris couldn’t hold back a small chuckle. Literally. “I’ll give them to Mother.” She said obediently.
“Good girl.” He reached over to pluck them from his shirt.
And then blood began to spurt out like three small fountains from where the stems left his shirt.
“Oh…” Kris began, unable to find her voice. “Da… No… Put them back! Daddy, put them back!” She reached for the three flowers, but Leon waved them out of the way, impervious to what was pouring out of his chest.
“You said you would give these to your mother, Kris. A good girl keeps her promises.”
“No, no!” She yelled hysterically, “This isn’t the time for this. I have to stop the bleeding…” She pressed her hands to her father chest, and then withdrew them quickly. The blood was gushing out with an unnatural force. Her hands wouldn’t do.
What’s going on?
She stared at her bloodied hands dumbly, the smell of blood making her dizzy.
She was vaguely aware of her father speaking.
“You seem upset. Would you like some cake? I’ll get some for you if you’d let me reach it…”
But Kris fainted.
After some time of floating in limbo, she heard the voice again, but this time, it sounded more recognizably male.
“That was quite flamboyant, wasn’t it?”
A light wind tickled her cheek, and she cracked open a lid. There was a silver bird circling before her.
“Welcome to my world,” it said.
---
The stairs kept going on and on. When she lifted her eyes to find the summit, her eyes closed. For whatever reason, she couldn’t see what was beyond these few steps.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll get there when I get there.
She kept going, one step at a time. She never got tired—her body felt as light as air. And then, as she had intuited, the stairs ended abruptly. A genderless voice applauded her.
“Well done for making it this far.”
They were only stairs. I always take the stairs.
She was finally allowed to look up. A hallway of clouds stretched before her, even though the ground felt perfectly solid to her as she walked. There were doors on both sides of the hallway, numbered 301, 302, 303, and so on, with odd numbers on the left, even numbers on the right. They seemed to be floating in midair, independent of walls, but she knew that if she opened a door, there would be something different behind each.
She turned 180 degrees, trying to find the speaker, but there was no one to be found. It was a bit unsettling, but not that much.
“This is a different world, you know. Can you handle it?” The voice asked.
Of course. When have I not been able to handle anything?
“Good answer. But you’re going to have to be open-minded if you want to make it through intact.”
Then, unexpectedly, a door handle materialized before her. Is this what the voice meant by “handle,” She thought dryly. Bad pun. She could hear whispers of a hearty laughter resound about her.
Only now did she notice that none of the doors in the hallway had handles. Apparently, she was supposed to match the two in order to proceed. As she progressed along the hall, she shot each handle-less door and cursory glance and moved on when the shape was wrong. Light mist billowed up around her ankles, but the floor remained thankfully solid.
“Open-minded.” The voice reminded—or warned. She couldn’t tell anything from this voice. But the reminder—or warning—meant nothing to her. She continued to search with her sharp eyes until she found a matching shape.
“Oh well.”
The door opened. She was surprised to find herself looking into her old apartment. A quick glance behind told her that the cloudy hallway had disappeared, replaced with her old neighborhood.
Her mother was sitting at the table, rocking back and forth and murmuring. Her grandmother was sitting on a cushion and meditating in the opposite corner. The apartment wasn’t big. The two adults shared the bedroom—the girl slept in a sleeping bag located in the main room. The kitchen and dining room were connected to the main room, making the place effectively two rooms.
She made for her sleeping bag, the way she always did first thing she got home. It was the only personal space she had in the apartment, and her mother never let her stay out for too long.
“Kris…” her mother moaned, “Kris…”
She ignored her mother’s calls. It had become something like a background noise after all these years. Her grandmother was ignoring the calls as well, sitting there in silence. As Kris glanced over at her grandmother, she did a double take. The strict, conservative old woman was now dressed in a white skirt with more frills than she could count. There were ribbons at the hems, and small jewel ornaments in her hair, which was mostly covered with a white bowler hat. It didn’t look right at all.
“Oba-sa—” She started calling her grandmother in Japanese, but her mother interrupted with a screech.
“KRIS! KRIS, WHY ARE YOU IGNORING ME?!”
The girl’s head snapped over to her mother’s hunched over figure. This would be first serious tantrum in a while. The last one had been right after Leon’s death. Kris had barely managed to get away with her all bones intact.
“Mother,” She began in English this time, because her mother preferred that, “I’m listening.”
“Kris, Kris,” she continued to sob, “Look at me… look at me…”
“I’m looking, Mother,” Kris replied cautiously, still crouching by her sleeping bag. What has gotten into her?
Her mother turned around, and Kris stopped breathing. The woman had hollows for eyes, and there was something pink and blue steadily oozing out of them. The front of her shirt was also covered in blood and a strange oily liquid.
“My brain is damaged!” The woman wailed. “KRIS, HELP ME!” Her wail rose into an unbearable shriek. She stood up, swayed, and then moved towards to Kris.
The girl finally remembered how to move and sprinted for the door. Oh gods, oh gods, oh g— Someone—or something—caught her by the collar, and yanked her back. Kris would have screamed if she had not been busy choking. Whoever caught her grabbed her around the waist and held her firmly in place.
“Didn’t you hear your poor mother?” Grandmother. “Her brain is damaged. Why don’t you comfort her, you ingrate?!” The old woman’s voice turned rough and malicious at the end. Kris gasped and whimpered, trying to break free, but her grandmother was inhumanly strong.
“Someone... stop…help…Mother…” The girl cried, trying to escape from the old woman’s iron grip.
“Do you want someone to help you, or someone to help your mother? A quiet voice whispered in her mind. “What is it that you want?"
And then the eye-less woman fell on her. Kris screamed louder than she ever had in her life. “NO! GET OFF!”
“Kris… my Kris…” Her voice was muffled in the folds of her daughter’s clothing.
The girl could feel liquid seeping through her clothes and down her waist. She whimpered in agony, but neither woman could be detached. Her mother moaned again. Kris realized, sickeningly, that the pink and blue substance oozing out was the brain. Parts of it were breaking off and sticking to her shirt…
Someone, anyone, let me out… Kris prayed. Her heart couldn’t possibly beat any more violently. She was trembling and also struggling at the same time. The door was open—why did no one come?
And then three gunshots rang out. The weight on her chest and her back fell away. The room had gotten dark, and there was a spotlight on her, alone. She took a few shaky breaths as an attempt to calm herself and peered blindly into the darkness, to no avail. She couldn’t even see the two bodies that were previously so close to her. A shiver crept down her spine at the memory.
What was going on?
“A weapon mustn’t be used to hurt other’s Kris. I told you that.” She knew this voice. It was her sensei.
“I d-didn’t—” Her voice was shaking, so she took another breath. “I didn’t kill them.”
“Your desire killed them.”
“No, that’s…”
What do you want, Kris?
The darkness abated almost at once, and she found herself in a field of red flowers. Kris blinked several times, trying to get used to the sudden influx of light. Scarlet petals fluttered in the light breeze. Several got stuck on her shirt, which was still slick from before, making flower shapes on her chest. She didn’t have the stomach to brush them off—that meant touching the liquid as well.
There was someone else in the field of flowers with her. He was lying on the ground some ways away.
“Daddy?” Her voice lifted hopefully. She hadn’t seen him in so long—seeing him in the nightmarish world was a relief. She stumbled until she was kneeling by the man’s side.
Sure enough, it was Leon. His dark orange hair curled around his aged face. There were lines that didn’t used to be there, but he still looked the same, with the round chin, pointed nose, and twinkling green eyes. The eyes that they shared. Leon smiled warmly at her from his position on the ground. He seemed to be enjoying the flowerbed in his own way. Kris managed a smile in return—she was not quite recovered from the previous event, but seeing her father had caused a happy feeling of warmth to bloom inside her.
“Hi,” he said meekly. He had always been at her mother’s beck and call, which caused him to treat his daughter similarly. Kris loved her father though.
“Hi.” She replied.
“Would you like some flowers? I’ve been growing them,” He waved an arm over the entire field, but didn’t budge otherwise.
“They’re beautiful, Daddy.”
“Yes… Mariko would love them.” Kris flinched at the mention of her mother. Did he know?
“Why don’t you give these to her? I put all my heart into these.” Leon pointed to three flowers whose stems were stuck into his shirt.
Kris couldn’t hold back a small chuckle. Literally. “I’ll give them to Mother.” She said obediently.
“Good girl.” He reached over to pluck them from his shirt.
And then blood began to spurt out like three small fountains from where the stems left his shirt.
“Oh…” Kris began, unable to find her voice. “Da… No… Put them back! Daddy, put them back!” She reached for the three flowers, but Leon waved them out of the way, impervious to what was pouring out of his chest.
“You said you would give these to your mother, Kris. A good girl keeps her promises.”
“No, no!” She yelled hysterically, “This isn’t the time for this. I have to stop the bleeding…” She pressed her hands to her father chest, and then withdrew them quickly. The blood was gushing out with an unnatural force. Her hands wouldn’t do.
What’s going on?
She stared at her bloodied hands dumbly, the smell of blood making her dizzy.
She was vaguely aware of her father speaking.
“You seem upset. Would you like some cake? I’ll get some for you if you’d let me reach it…”
But Kris fainted.
After some time of floating in limbo, she heard the voice again, but this time, it sounded more recognizably male.
“That was quite flamboyant, wasn’t it?”
A light wind tickled her cheek, and she cracked open a lid. There was a silver bird circling before her.
“Welcome to my world,” it said.
