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veiledallegory2014-04-17 09:18 pm
sisyphus) wrote in veiledallegory2014-04-17 09:18 pm
Visions
Title: Visions
Words: 562
Notes: There is no context.
The cat is watching him, he thinks. But if he closes his eyes it would go away.
There was a field in his dreams. It was saturated in color. Perhaps it moved in the wind. Perhaps it did not. The woman there had told him her name but he had already forgotten. Children are like that, she had said. There’s nothing that you want to hold on to enough to remember.
Perhaps what she was saying was true. It might be the case. Perhaps he didn’t want to remember.
His eyes blink open. The cat is still staring. He waves a hand for it to go away.
It blinks at him. He closes his eyes.
There was a building in his dreams. It was ramshackle and breaking down, and he wanted to be inside of it. There was a key somewhere, a key to the building that he wished to be in, and he couldn’t find it. The woman there told him the way but he had already forgotten. Children are like that, she had said. They make things more difficult than they are.
Perhaps that was true. It might be the case. He trailed his fingers over the door then let them slip away.
His eyes will not open if he tries. But the cat is still there, he thinks. He can feel it still there. He does not remember if the cat is his.
There was a tree in his dreams. It had been in a forest. But no longer was there a copse of its brethren. The woods had been taken, destroyed by time and others, and there was no turning back those hands. The woman there told him to grow more saplings but he could not. Children are like that, she had said. They want to turn back time yet they are only impatient.
Perhaps that was true. It might be the case. But time had already slipped away.
He no longer can remember the cat.
There was a path in front of him. He knew not where it led. He had been on it a moment ago but could not remember where he came. For some reason he could not go back. Children are like that, the woman there told him. “You only want to know where you’re going when you can’t run away.”
Perhaps that was true. It might be the case. He had made a habit of running away.
She was not as old as he thought when she smiled. But there was a melancholy to it that seemed older than her form.
“Then take my hand.”
He thinks he hears something. A name. Something that he had once used. It falls from him, then slips away.
“No thanks,” he dreamed, walking past the outstretched hand. The path faded from sight but he knew he was on it. She cocked her head at him, questioning the move. Children are like that, he said. “Contrary in every way, right down to the end.”
Perhaps it was true. It might yet be the case. But wasn’t this what he wanted?
He was older than she thought, when he smiled. There was a melancholy to it. He would be older than she thought.
“It’s never been about what I wanted.”
There is beeping all around him, an incessant drone. He thinks to see the cat’s eyes on him. He thinks to call it back to him.
Maybe it already has gone away.
Words: 562
Notes: There is no context.
The cat is watching him, he thinks. But if he closes his eyes it would go away.
There was a field in his dreams. It was saturated in color. Perhaps it moved in the wind. Perhaps it did not. The woman there had told him her name but he had already forgotten. Children are like that, she had said. There’s nothing that you want to hold on to enough to remember.
Perhaps what she was saying was true. It might be the case. Perhaps he didn’t want to remember.
His eyes blink open. The cat is still staring. He waves a hand for it to go away.
It blinks at him. He closes his eyes.
There was a building in his dreams. It was ramshackle and breaking down, and he wanted to be inside of it. There was a key somewhere, a key to the building that he wished to be in, and he couldn’t find it. The woman there told him the way but he had already forgotten. Children are like that, she had said. They make things more difficult than they are.
Perhaps that was true. It might be the case. He trailed his fingers over the door then let them slip away.
His eyes will not open if he tries. But the cat is still there, he thinks. He can feel it still there. He does not remember if the cat is his.
There was a tree in his dreams. It had been in a forest. But no longer was there a copse of its brethren. The woods had been taken, destroyed by time and others, and there was no turning back those hands. The woman there told him to grow more saplings but he could not. Children are like that, she had said. They want to turn back time yet they are only impatient.
Perhaps that was true. It might be the case. But time had already slipped away.
He no longer can remember the cat.
There was a path in front of him. He knew not where it led. He had been on it a moment ago but could not remember where he came. For some reason he could not go back. Children are like that, the woman there told him. “You only want to know where you’re going when you can’t run away.”
Perhaps that was true. It might be the case. He had made a habit of running away.
She was not as old as he thought when she smiled. But there was a melancholy to it that seemed older than her form.
“Then take my hand.”
He thinks he hears something. A name. Something that he had once used. It falls from him, then slips away.
“No thanks,” he dreamed, walking past the outstretched hand. The path faded from sight but he knew he was on it. She cocked her head at him, questioning the move. Children are like that, he said. “Contrary in every way, right down to the end.”
Perhaps it was true. It might yet be the case. But wasn’t this what he wanted?
He was older than she thought, when he smiled. There was a melancholy to it. He would be older than she thought.
“It’s never been about what I wanted.”
There is beeping all around him, an incessant drone. He thinks to see the cat’s eyes on him. He thinks to call it back to him.
Maybe it already has gone away.