Dream Worth Dreaming
by Lady Kosame
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Wind rushes through my hair and I am aware of the sensation of falling. My heartbeat thunders and quickens in my veins, the rushing noise like a river through my body. The world is dark then light in an instant, the contrast such a shock that I close my eyes shut. My body curls in on itself as I wait for an impact. Just as I feel my muscles ache from my fear, I am snatched from the air by thin, snaky arms. Opening my eyes, a tear falls down my cheek. Looking at me is a black, shadowy man, his spindly arms wrapped around me in a protective embrace. I do not know who he is, or who I am, or where I am, but his presence is enough to calm my shaking nerves; his aura a blanket of comfort despite his blank face. Carefully he sets me down on top of a white grand piano, its presence having been hidden from me during my fall. He silently takes a seat on the bench and gazes at me expressionlessly. I aimlessly glance up and spot a small closed window, leading to nothing but white; the entrance. Or is it the exit? I cannot be sure.
The chill of the piano seeps into my skin and my attention turns back to the figure before me. Why does he seem so familiar? Should I know him? Should I be afraid of him? My fingers dance in my lap, a pointless display of discomfort. What should I do now? I am alerted of his movement by the quiet whisper of footsteps on the hard floor. Frail-looking fingers are extended towards me, an offer of friendship. My mind murmurs memories of distant times, feelings too far out of reach, slipping from between my fingers. I cautiously extend my hand towards his, the touch soothing my fears and replacing them with a feeling of security. I know I will be safe here.
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The soft glow of the library remains, no matter the time; the musty smell of books tingling my senses. I stay in the library for hours at a time, adventures and tales hidden within the worn out pages, waiting to be uncovered. Most times the shadowy figure accompanies me. We sit in a peaceful quiet with only the rustle of turned pages marking our time. As I sit with an old tome splayed on my lap, a sweet melody fills the air, restrained and slow. Shutting the book and placing it to the side I push myself to my feet and make my way down the ornate stairs. Padding across the white expanse I see the shadowy figure seated before the piano, his graceful fingers moving across the keys in a caress. I stand to the side and watch him play. As he progresses his hands seems to glide from one side of the piano to the other in a beautiful dance only he knows. His eyes are closed in concentration and I take the moment to admire his playing. The music flows from the instrument like a voice, strong and light, displaying his emotions and speaking to me with a sound like joy. My heart strains and rises with the crescendo and a single word comes to me in a moment. As the last dying notes fade from existence, he turns to look at me. "Deemo."
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The plant is so small and fragile, its stem no thicker than a grain of rice. It strains upwards, willing itself to climb further into the vast sky. Deemo had started playing me music, the glorious sounds filling the silence of everyday. It had called to the life within the ground and brought it to the surface. I thought about where I had come from. The window up above seemed so far away, the distance between me and my past too immense to cross. My desire to find out what was out there, beyond the window, made a restless feeling reside in my chest. I knew there was something I was missing. I sat down and motioned Deemo to do the same. With my hands clasped around my knees, I detailed the ways in which I could make it up there, to discover my origins, while Deemo sat motionless beside me, listening intently but never replying.
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The tree continues to grow each day, like a symbol of my dreams about to come true. I sit on the piano and watch, mesmerised as Deemo pieces together symphonies, working fluidly with experience and patience. The tree grows taller with each passing note, giving life to each leaf and bud. As the songs fades, I close my eyes and smile. A breeze flows from the open window above, down through the branches and across my face, a breath of longing and life seeping into me. My eyes flutter open and Deemo is still watching me. I hold out my arms and he gently sets me down on the ground, his gentle fingers trailing through my tresses to untangle a wayward leaf. Smiling brightly, I ask if he could teach me to play. He hesitates for not more than a second before his warm fingers wrap around my hand and guide me to the bench beside him, his ever watchful eyes shining with something like pride as my tiny, clumsy fingertips brush the ends of the keys.
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My dreams are repetitive. Always the same thing. Visions of the past or the future, familiar figures and worn out faces. Standing next to Deemo and seeing the ever present tree, which usually fills me with hope instead crushes the remaining stability I have and reminds me that I can never find who I am. The tree with its steady roots and high reaching branches has finally stopped its ascent into the realm of the sky, leaving me stranded in its wake, trying to find another solution. I don't understand my purpose here. My memories flash at the corners of my mind but are submerged under the surface. I cannot reach them. The Masked Woman continues to plague me. Who is she? What does she want? Do I know her? She is familiar, in the same way that Deemo is familiar to me yet she remains beyond me. Her tired frame faces me in my dreams and I try my best to run to her, the echoing sound of my footsteps radiating through the room, but I can never get close enough. I want to go to her. How can I go to her though when I don't even know who I am, the meaning for my existence in the room, Deemo by my side. My knees shake and buckle and I slide to the floor, the harsh, sharp sound of my sobs a contrast to the frequent melodies within. As I cry for myself, for Deemo and for the Masked Woman, I feel Deemo kneel behind me and the reassuring pressure of his slender fingers running through my hair only heightens my anxiety. What should I do now?
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Orange blossoms float through the air, dancing around me as I twirl from one side of the room to the other. Deemo sits at the base of the tree, playing a song I had never heard before but sounded a lot like heaven. The dark and light tones wound around each other, creating a harmony which spellbound me. My arms spin around me, my hair a curtain from the world as I skip and laugh and dance in contentment. This is what I live for. The feeling of weightlessness as I listen to Deemo's music makes me forget about the mysteries of my past and live for the moment, here together with him. He plays song after song and light shines down from the open window, illuminating the bright blossoms and creating a mystical atmosphere. When the music has finished, Deemo walks over to the side of the piano and watches me as I leap to catch the falling petals. The soft look in Deemo's eyes makes my heart fill with affection. I run over to him and reach out my arms, making grabby motions with my hands in a childish notion to be picked up. Immediately his long arms wrap around my waist and hoist me into the air, the sweet smell lingering in my lungs and making me giddy. I smile at Deemo and wrap my short arms around his neck. Resting my head atop his shoulder, my breathing starts to even out from my constant activity earlier. As my mind clouds with sleep and I feel Deemo start to gently rock me back and forth in his arms, I release a sigh. "I love you, Deemo."