Will was walking along the snowy path of Hunter's Combe, not quite knowing where he was going. He could hear his booted feet crunching on the snow, and could feel his heart beating in his chest. Something was about to happen.... Then, everything went bitter cold, and a hooded figure rose up in front of him, on a horse that was so black it was almost blue, and both radiated malevolence. Will shouted and started to run, but he couldn't escape the huge, pounding hooves of that hellish horse; his breath tore in his throat, and he started to stagger and sway, knowing that he wouldn't be able to run like this for very long.....the horse was gaining—it was almost on him—
Will woke up, a cold sweat prickling on his forehead. Had he shouted aloud? He listened carefully, but no one was awake. He didn't lie back down. The image of those dark figures and their terrible hate was still vivid in his mind. He needed something to take his mind off it. He turned on the light and reached for his book, but it wasn't there. Oh yeah, he thought. I left it in Jane's room. He was about to get up to grab it, but then he sat back down, chiding himself. He couldn't go into Jane's room while she was asleep! What if someone saw him? He could imagine Simon's reaction; he'd be almost purple with rage. He was still very protective of his little sister.
But then....no one was awake. It was a cold night; Jane would almost certainly have the covers up, and he really wanted to read. He'd do it. He slipped out of bed and crept down the hall, as quiet as if he were no more than a shadow or a ghost, and very quietly opened Jane's door, peeping in cautiously to make sure she was decent. Then he opened the door wider, about to pick up his book from her table—
But he stopped. He froze in midstep, struck by the difference sleep made in little Jane Drew. Her straggly dark blonde hair became a cloud of gold in the dim light from the hallway, and her cloudy blue eyes became long- lashed and beautiful when they were closed; and her lips, normally either pursed in disapproval or turned down in anxiety, became full and bright red and soft-looking. He moved away from the little table where his book was, feeling as though his feet were someone else's. As if in a dream again, he moved towards the little bed and bent over, eyes closed in silent reverie, and kissed little 13-year-old Jane Drew, his friend of 4 years, knowing it was hopeless, knowing that in the morning she'd wake up and remember nothing, but needing to find out if his impression was true, needing—
Her eyes were open. He leapt back as if struck by lightning, grabbed his book, and stumbled backwards out of the room, with Jane staring at him the whole time.
He cannoned into his room, shut the door, and leaned against it, closing his eyes, his heart thudding wildly in his throat. What had just happened? What could have possessed him to do that?
Love, came a small voice inside his head, but he pushed it away impatiently. No, it wasn't true, it couldn't be—
He sank down into a sitting position against his bedroom door and buried his head in his hands. It's true, he told himself. You know it's true.
It wasn't a dream and it wasn't a lie. He had just kissed Jane Drew, and he knew he wanted, needed, for it to happen again.
But he knew it couldn't. He knew he would never forget the look on Jane's face as he backed out of the little room. There had been no joy in that face, or even surprise. Just pure horror and shame.
He scrunched himself up on the floor like a baby, trying to make himself as small as possible, trying to squeeze the memory out of his mind. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. Why should he be in love with someone who hated him? It didn't make sense. He hated everything about his life, he wanted to die, he just wanted to stay on that floor his whole life and die like the rat he was.....
He started to shiver on the cold floor, and, as a child who has resolved to stop breathing must take another breath, was forced to get up and crawl back into bed to get warm. He knew he didn't really want to die. He just wanted his life to be completely different from the way it was.
He scrunched himself up again in the bed, hamsterlike, knowing he would not sleep again that night.
So what do you think? PLEASE R&R!
Will woke up, a cold sweat prickling on his forehead. Had he shouted aloud? He listened carefully, but no one was awake. He didn't lie back down. The image of those dark figures and their terrible hate was still vivid in his mind. He needed something to take his mind off it. He turned on the light and reached for his book, but it wasn't there. Oh yeah, he thought. I left it in Jane's room. He was about to get up to grab it, but then he sat back down, chiding himself. He couldn't go into Jane's room while she was asleep! What if someone saw him? He could imagine Simon's reaction; he'd be almost purple with rage. He was still very protective of his little sister.
But then....no one was awake. It was a cold night; Jane would almost certainly have the covers up, and he really wanted to read. He'd do it. He slipped out of bed and crept down the hall, as quiet as if he were no more than a shadow or a ghost, and very quietly opened Jane's door, peeping in cautiously to make sure she was decent. Then he opened the door wider, about to pick up his book from her table—
But he stopped. He froze in midstep, struck by the difference sleep made in little Jane Drew. Her straggly dark blonde hair became a cloud of gold in the dim light from the hallway, and her cloudy blue eyes became long- lashed and beautiful when they were closed; and her lips, normally either pursed in disapproval or turned down in anxiety, became full and bright red and soft-looking. He moved away from the little table where his book was, feeling as though his feet were someone else's. As if in a dream again, he moved towards the little bed and bent over, eyes closed in silent reverie, and kissed little 13-year-old Jane Drew, his friend of 4 years, knowing it was hopeless, knowing that in the morning she'd wake up and remember nothing, but needing to find out if his impression was true, needing—
Her eyes were open. He leapt back as if struck by lightning, grabbed his book, and stumbled backwards out of the room, with Jane staring at him the whole time.
He cannoned into his room, shut the door, and leaned against it, closing his eyes, his heart thudding wildly in his throat. What had just happened? What could have possessed him to do that?
Love, came a small voice inside his head, but he pushed it away impatiently. No, it wasn't true, it couldn't be—
He sank down into a sitting position against his bedroom door and buried his head in his hands. It's true, he told himself. You know it's true.
It wasn't a dream and it wasn't a lie. He had just kissed Jane Drew, and he knew he wanted, needed, for it to happen again.
But he knew it couldn't. He knew he would never forget the look on Jane's face as he backed out of the little room. There had been no joy in that face, or even surprise. Just pure horror and shame.
He scrunched himself up on the floor like a baby, trying to make himself as small as possible, trying to squeeze the memory out of his mind. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. Why should he be in love with someone who hated him? It didn't make sense. He hated everything about his life, he wanted to die, he just wanted to stay on that floor his whole life and die like the rat he was.....
He started to shiver on the cold floor, and, as a child who has resolved to stop breathing must take another breath, was forced to get up and crawl back into bed to get warm. He knew he didn't really want to die. He just wanted his life to be completely different from the way it was.
He scrunched himself up again in the bed, hamsterlike, knowing he would not sleep again that night.
So what do you think? PLEASE R&R!