Here's a story inspired by something my brother said. He told me that it
was all just a dream, and that Jareth was just her fantasy of a bad
guy/prince charming, and when he says "I can't live within you" he was
meaning that since he was just a dream, and illusion, he could really live.
Well, I'm a big J/S shipper, so I decided to make it so that that was what
Sarah thought. ( Oh, and Sarah's friend Kathy is named after a friend of
mine, Kathy Doncaster who died of a brain tumor five years ago. I LOVE YOU
KATHY!!!!!!! Now, with that morbid thought, read on!!
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Sarah had grown since that day. She had put away all her toys, her books, her dreams. She cut her hair so that it was "more practical." She believed it all to have been a dream, just a dream to show her what power she was giving her imagination. So she put aside all dreams, all wishes, all magic and even the belief of love. For what is love, if not magical? But magic does not exist, therefore love does not exist. And so she lived, immersed in finances, order, learning, and logic. But in the night, her dreamer would cry out, begging her to listen to it. It screamed to her from the depths of her empty heart, crying out for love, for passion, for magic. And so he came to her at night, in her dreams, trying to awaken the dreamer in the depths of her being. But his attempts were futile. When she would awaken, she would shake the dreams from her mind, and go about her day. And he would wait for the next night, to try again. And so they lived, day to day, her dreamer and him both calling out to the hollow Sarah to believe in them again. Until he became desperate, and decided upon another course of action.
I woke up that morning from another dream about him. I shook my head. "You've got to stop it Sarah. It was just a silly dream." Sigh. Why did it seem to hurt when I think that? Ugh, I must still be half asleep.
I stumbled into the kitchen and smiled at the scent of fresh coffee. Pouring myself a large cup and drinking it black, I began to wake up. And then I stared in puzzlement at my kitchen table. There was a large basket of a dozen beautiful, perfect, blood red roses. Hmmm, I thought. Well, that wasn't there last night. Maybe it came when I was half asleep and I brought it in here without remembering. I shrugged. I do weird things before I'm truly awake. That was probably it. Looking closer, I noticed a card amongst the blooms. Pulling it out, I gasped.
On the card was my name in the most beautiful script I'd ever seen. I couldn't help tracing over it with my finger, feeling the slight indent of the swirls and curves. Smiling, I opened the card. Inside, the note was short, and also in that beautiful script. "My Beloved Sarah, please accept this gift, even though you do not know me yet. I would like to remedy that little problem though, so please join me for lunch at the little Café on the corner of Amadeo St.."
I flipped the card over, but that was all. No signature, nothing to indicate who it was I was supposed to meet. How was I supposed to know which stranger to walk up to? "Hmm, well I hope he comes up to me," I thought, "or else I'm just screwed. And there's no time. How does he know what time my lunch break is? Or maybe he's just going to wait there all day. Wait, how does he know where I live? Oh God, I hope he's not some creepy stalker." I traced over the lettering again. "No man that writes like this could be a psycho creepy stalker. What are you saying Sarah? Of course he could be. What is it they always say? Meet someone you don't know in a public place. Check. Oh, and go with someone you know. Well that's easy. I'll just ask Kathy to go with me. That way, if he is a nutbag, one of us can run for help." I smiled. It was a plan.
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Sarah had grown since that day. She had put away all her toys, her books, her dreams. She cut her hair so that it was "more practical." She believed it all to have been a dream, just a dream to show her what power she was giving her imagination. So she put aside all dreams, all wishes, all magic and even the belief of love. For what is love, if not magical? But magic does not exist, therefore love does not exist. And so she lived, immersed in finances, order, learning, and logic. But in the night, her dreamer would cry out, begging her to listen to it. It screamed to her from the depths of her empty heart, crying out for love, for passion, for magic. And so he came to her at night, in her dreams, trying to awaken the dreamer in the depths of her being. But his attempts were futile. When she would awaken, she would shake the dreams from her mind, and go about her day. And he would wait for the next night, to try again. And so they lived, day to day, her dreamer and him both calling out to the hollow Sarah to believe in them again. Until he became desperate, and decided upon another course of action.
I woke up that morning from another dream about him. I shook my head. "You've got to stop it Sarah. It was just a silly dream." Sigh. Why did it seem to hurt when I think that? Ugh, I must still be half asleep.
I stumbled into the kitchen and smiled at the scent of fresh coffee. Pouring myself a large cup and drinking it black, I began to wake up. And then I stared in puzzlement at my kitchen table. There was a large basket of a dozen beautiful, perfect, blood red roses. Hmmm, I thought. Well, that wasn't there last night. Maybe it came when I was half asleep and I brought it in here without remembering. I shrugged. I do weird things before I'm truly awake. That was probably it. Looking closer, I noticed a card amongst the blooms. Pulling it out, I gasped.
On the card was my name in the most beautiful script I'd ever seen. I couldn't help tracing over it with my finger, feeling the slight indent of the swirls and curves. Smiling, I opened the card. Inside, the note was short, and also in that beautiful script. "My Beloved Sarah, please accept this gift, even though you do not know me yet. I would like to remedy that little problem though, so please join me for lunch at the little Café on the corner of Amadeo St.."
I flipped the card over, but that was all. No signature, nothing to indicate who it was I was supposed to meet. How was I supposed to know which stranger to walk up to? "Hmm, well I hope he comes up to me," I thought, "or else I'm just screwed. And there's no time. How does he know what time my lunch break is? Or maybe he's just going to wait there all day. Wait, how does he know where I live? Oh God, I hope he's not some creepy stalker." I traced over the lettering again. "No man that writes like this could be a psycho creepy stalker. What are you saying Sarah? Of course he could be. What is it they always say? Meet someone you don't know in a public place. Check. Oh, and go with someone you know. Well that's easy. I'll just ask Kathy to go with me. That way, if he is a nutbag, one of us can run for help." I smiled. It was a plan.