Author's Notes: Just a short ficlet with heavy influence from Ernest Hemingway and James Joyce. It's Jack/Sarah because I haven't written anything remotely canonical in a long time, and my current slash project is on hold (again -_-). I've gone back on working on my diction and motif/symbolism skills with this one, too, and I'm developing subtlety. You might have to read it twice to understand what's going on. Reviews are much appreciated with this one.
In Dreams Responsibilities are Born
At night she dreams of mountains, round and rolling in the distance.
She does not like to sleep in her own bed these days because of the mountain dreams; when she wakes, the curtains are always billowing towards her, and she thinks of him. When she reflects on it, she finds the whole scene unsettling.
She once asked her mother about possibly switching beds with David, who balked when he overheard the suggestion. David doesn't have those same swelling curtains she does; his lay flat against the closed window. But her mother said no, and now she has to live with what she has.
At first, the mountains in her dreams were covered in a thick white haze, and she could barely make out their shape. In the time that has passed since the first dream, the haze is now almost vanished, and the mountains are clear and unmistakable.
Things have been strange for her since the dreams started. Her mother has become much more testy, her father more cool and distant. David does not let her catch on as to how he feels (except for the bed incident), and because only Les remains affectionate, the only reason she can guess why is because he is still oblivious. In between the dreams, she wonders why observation has become the key to degradation in her family.
Sometimes she dreams that the mountains are in the background, and even though they're a constant reminder, in those dreams she can focus more on the face of the setting. Sometimes there is a small, run-down cottage preceding the mountains, sometimes a harbor and boat, and once or twice she has seen her family's tenement or even the Newsboys Lodging House; more often, though, there has been a train depot with strong, thick black rails and a rickety stationhouse. There is no train arriving or departing; everything stays constant.
Everything stays constant. From where she is, she can hear a knock on the door, and she knows that's not true. Nothing stays the same.
"Sarah?" Her mother's voice is loud without echo from the main room. "Jack is here to see you."
She rises from her mother's bed, watching the curtains sway back and forth and expand slightly in the breeze, and wonders if he dreams of the mountains too.