Title: Dreamgirl
Author: Inherently Flawed
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A look into the daytime wanderings of Sara's mind (remember, they work the night shift, ergo daytimesleep. Do people seem to forget that a lot, or am I just imagining it?).
Author's notes: I'm sorry if it doesn't make much sense. I tried to clarify as much as possible who's who and what's supposed to be going on, but if you're still confused, let me know.
If you haven't seen Nesting Dolls, this probably won't make much sense.
She's creeping quietly down the hallway, moving as quickly as possible while still avoiding the floorboards that squeak. It takes some creative and nimble maneuvering, but that was okay - she's had lots of practice, in her dreams at least once a week. She's wanted nothing more than to be a ballerina ever since mom told her she couldn't have ballet lessons last year. But she can't really practice unless mom and dad aren't home, because they both complain about the noise the floors make. She's reached a large, heavy door. She's lived in this house for nine years, how come she doesn't remember what's behind here? Ever curious, she inches the door open just enough to slip through.
Just in time. She can hear dad coming up the stairs. She tries to gauge his mood from his footsteps. He's only been home for about fifteen minutes, so the even thud means he's still in a good mood. Best to stay in here anyway, though. She turns her ear away from the door and looks around the room. Her mother's antique vanity is pushed up against one wall and she catches sight of herself in the mirror. These overalls – they're important? She can't remember why right now, but she's excited about them. They're brand-new and purple. She's a little surprised that they still fit even though her body's all grown up now. The vanity's white wood is discolored by something dark. She can't tell what it is from here, but it looks like someone has tried to scrub all of the drops of it off, although they didn't do a very good job. That means dad will be upset if he finds out; he hates when things are dirty or messy. She'll have to deal with that in a minute.
What else is here? A wardrobe. Just like in her book! Her teacher gave her The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe last month, and she's read it five times since then.
She jumps, startled, when she hears a loud noise from downstairs. Screaming? Nothing new there. Sounds like mom and dad, in their bedroom. If she concentrates, she can almost smell the nicotine from her mom, the whiskey from here dad. She's not concentrating on that right now though, because now it's quiet. Very, very quiet. She opens the door of the wardrobe and pokes her head inside. There is a man sitting on the floor in front of the coats. His blond hair is tousled and defying gravity as much as possible and his shirt is a blinding mix of color and band logo. He grins up at her. "Sara! I've been waiting for you. What took you so long?"
"I think I'm supposed to be downstairs right now," she tells him uncertainly. Something in her brain is screaming at her, 'This isn't how it goes!' But she's looking at him, and something in her grown-up stomach clenches, and she ignores her brain and sits with him on the floor of the wardrobe. He glares critically at her outfit. "Now what are you wearing that for?"
"What do you mean? They're new, I like them. They're purple."
"But you got them all messy. See?" He points to her torso and she looks down, surprised to see that her pretty new overalls have been spattered with something dark, just like mom's vanity. "Oh no! My parents are going to be angry at me. They're new."
"You don't have to worry about them, Sara. You can just change… Much better."
She looks down again and sees a beautiful white gown, just like in the movies. When she looks up, he is standing before her in a tux, his hair a little more under control. The wardrobe has melted into a sunny park, filled with flowers and shady trees. He loops their arms together and she finds herself smiling at the new weight on her left hand. As they walk, the crowd that is gathered around them parts and lets them through, Red Sea fashion. When they reach the edge of the people, she looks quizzically across the pond and sees her old house, lit up by alternating red, blue and white lights. Sirens faintly assault her ears, but the wind in the trees in the park drowns it out a little. She sees a little girl in purple overalls being led by the hand to a car. She knows that the little girl is trembling and that her throat is raw from screaming. She knows that the little girl has a good deal of hell ahead of her. She turns to him and smiles. "Come on, we have a honeymoon to attend."