A/N: This is the essay mentioned in Dear Jareth. It isn't much but is it enough to get a certain Goblin King's attention?
Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth, but I do own a copy of the dvd. Mrs. Porter is my own twisted creations. And if anyone wonders, my English teacher's name when I was in high school was Mrs. Peters.
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Sarah sat down at her father's computer. She hated this assignment. 'Stupid. Stupid. This is so stupid!' she mused, grumbling. This English assignment was to write about a dream, putting in as much detail as she could remember. The lesson was on prose.
'Lovely! I hate this. The only dream worth writing about, I can't talk about,' Sarah muttered, turning on the computer.
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Ballroom by Sarah Williams English 101
The dream I remember most clearly is one that I've been having since I was fifteen. I remember the music, the laughter and the people in strange old fashion clothing wearing goblin masks. They are all holding small, round mirrors into which they stare into and laugh. The laughter has a mocking, sarcastic tone to it.
I am the only one not masked as I push past them.
I am dressed. like Cinderella at her first ball in a gown of white brocade silk with silver and pearls laced throughout. The bodice hug my body as the skirt flares off my waist. It is so prefect, it could be a wedding dress. My gown is modest compared to the masked ladies that whirl around me.
My hair is flowing freely over my shoulders with white ribbons and leaves weaved through it. Silver and pearl earrings dangle from my ears and a filigree necklace adorns my neck.
I cannot be still, I am searching for something in the room, pushing around people as I move. Billowing white curtains and chandeliers dot the dream. The ball room is oval and tiered. In the distance, I hear someone singing softly. I catch phrases of the song as I search frantically.
The phrase "I'm falling" echoes around and through me as I am finally found.
He is tall. Blonde hair that seems to defy gravity frames his handsome, haunting face. He sings to me as he takes my hand. I am mesmerized by his mismatched eyes, as I cannot look away.
Dressed in greys and black with a white frilly poet shirt, he looked like he stepped from the stage set of the 'Phantom of the Opera.' Silver glitter lies scattered on his black velvet jacket like pixie dust.
People move out of our way as he leads me into a waltz. The laughter dies as we dance. His song fills me with strange longings. I can't stop looking into his eyes.
Suddenly, in the distance, a grandfather clock chimes. Its loud nerve jarring sound snaps me out of sleep causing me to bolt up-right in bed. The pounding of the clock echoes to the throbbing in my body. For you see, there is no grandfather clock in my room, only my alarm and it is still hours yet before I have to get up.
I stumble from my bed, in sleepy awareness, into the bathroom. When I finally manage to get back into bed, I wonder if I'll be able to go back to sleep. For you see, I have this dream often and it always is the same. It never changes.
As I fall back to sleep, I make a silent wish. I wish as blackness claims me to dance once more with the Goblin King. For now, he only appears in my dreams.
The End.
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Sarah corrected her essay as much as she could, printed it doubled spaced, as required. She wondered what her teacher would think of her 'dream'.
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Several days after she had turned in her essay, her English teacher called Sarah into her office.
"You wanted to see me, Mrs. Porter?"
"Yes Sarah. Here's your essay back," Mrs. Porter replied, holding out the paper. "I must say. It was an interesting read! A lot better then some. Very realistic. Have you thought about being a writer? This really is very good."
Sarah blushed, as she took the essay. A huge red 'A' in a circle adorned the top of the page.
"I would like you to enter that in the regional school essay contest. I'm sure you would do well," the teacher went on to say.
Sarah paled, then blinked. "I. . . I rather not," she stuttered. "If you don't mind. The dream is very personal."
"I see." Clearly the teacher didn't as she continued to tried to talking Sarah into submitting the essay.
Sarah refused and as she turned to leave, Mrs. Porter stopped her.
"Sarah. I won't try to say the Goblin King isn't real. I leave that up to your imagination. However, if I woke from a dream like that, I think I too would make the same wish." Mrs. Porter smiled then, making a shooing motion with her hands, "Now you'll be late for your next class. Out."
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Thanks Frau for editing. You are a life saver. Until next time. --GF