"Upon Awakening"
22 January 2008
Mist wrapped its delicate fingers around the boughs of every tree, and from a distance, the enveloped leaves looked kike they were in the process of being suffocated by the onslaught of gray cotton candy; but lacking any substance, the wispy remnants of fog ambled along pm their journey to find a new object, a new being to strangle as they were pushed away by the wind.
To him, there was nothing but the haze—there was nothing else but the sounds of the breathing he could barely hear under the veil of sleep. No responsibilities burdened him; there was nothing but sleep, the veil…the nightmare—
—of Anna stepping out of the mist, clad in the dress she wore whilst lying on their marriage-bed. The white frock excited him even in slumber; he longed to strip it from her body and feel every curve, every crevice of her tender flesh. She was walking toward him now, calling his name:
"Ian, Ian! Here I am! Come to me!"
And he did, and soon, they were running together—dreamland made them zoom, rather than run—and his ecstasy was suddenly and brutally torn away from him when he discovered, to his amazement, that she lay behind a wall of the most chilling and most forbidding type of glass, and he found that nothing, no slamming of his fists or hurling of his frame could shatter it.
He was screaming now, and she stood there—the object of his desire began to cry, and tears dribbled down her cheeks and onto her gown, leaving behind gray droplets which soon faded, leaving behind only their frail, transparent ghosts to remind him that they had been their only moments before.
He noticed her shudder, as if she were exposed to the frigidness of a sudden blast of cold—or perhaps, a draft of some sort?—and her tears gradually began to darken into the color of red wine, the same wine he had drank at the wedding with his father.
"I wish my son all the best—eternal life, love and happiness," came the voice from out of the haze. As he heard his father's voice reverberate in the chasms of his brain, he noticed with utter astonishment that the rich wine color had rapidly brightened into the color of fresh blood.
Blood Wedding…I read that in English class…it was extra credit wasn't it—?
Wounds appeared out of nowhere; Anna was screaming:
"Save me, save me! Help!"
But the glass would not budge, would not render under his touch. And then she was gone and he found himself on an open road, a car leaping out haphazardly from the fog in the distance.
He could hear voices; they were carried to his ears by the wind and suddenly, he had to atone for his fatal mistake: he would relive this moment, those harsh words over and over, in sleep, in dreams, in death.
"It'll be fun, Annie, it'll be great…just the two of us, and no one around—disregard the rumors."
"Anything you say."
"That's my girl."
The car was close enough now that he could see the passengers kissing—Oh my God, that's me!—how long since that moment?—an hour? two?—
And now the haze was gone, the mist was gone, the wedding, and he was awake. The only sound he could hear now was the chirping of crickets in the grass, which glistened with dew. It was then that he noticed the gash on his leg: long, deep, repugnant.
She was gone. He knew it. He could smell her blood on his hands.
I'm young…and stupid—only twenty-three!
The sound of footsteps hitting the soft, muddy ground sent shivers up his spine; the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.
"I'm sorry," he croaked into the blackness.
For he remembered.
