Dreams. Oh, us dreams. Painful occasionally, we are woven deep within time and space, Dreams make everything easier. Contrary to common belief, your dreams are not unique to you. There are many of us, who willingly give up, and away our identities to become your friends. Changing with your mood and age, we are the same ones each time, shifting our face and voice to amuse you. Actually, we make up a small part of you. Representing pieces of you, your past, and your future. Sometimes, we may hurt you. We are sorry to see you upset, but we must. Personality adjusts; she always loved you. Incidents add as you grow older, multiplying in severity and complexity. Love grows stronger, united with Desire, they mingle, fluctuating and But I am the same. Each of us shares something with you. Your hair. Your face. Your smile. Your laugh. Your body. I am Humanity. I am you. Your eyes. I own your eyes; yet you do not notice this. Our similarities differ only slightly. Mine are deeper, deeper because these eyes have lived your entire life. They hold your future and past, much too much for you to process in your fragile age. My love for you is selfish, this much is true, as is all of our love. You shall never be refused by us. We will give to you, everything, and nothing. We give to you, our faces and our honest lives, our humanity. The slightest of it you see, because if all the world ceased to dream, so would we. So as in turn, we need you as much as you need us. And I need you now more than ever. Help. The man awoke, brushing his thick hair from his eyes. He gasped, seemingly excited.. it faded, as if he had expected something more. Or possibly, something less. Either way, what he wanted, was not there.
The he tottered around the room, now fresh out of bed, muttering softly to himself. His eyelashes fluttered, and he pushed up his useless glasses. The dark frames did absolutely nothing for his sight; actually, it made his horrid vision worse. At least they made him presentable. If you were kind enough to discount his sickly skin and the tiny, skinny way his body was shaped. If you cared enough to overlook the dark rings that clouded his beautiful, sorrowful eyes, hidden behind him unkempt jet hair, he glanced out the main window wistfully, "Amai yume," ("Sweet dreams,") His white fingers clenched together into a fist and he smiled bitterly. "I make no sense." he sat himself in a chair, looking around the room he knew so well, rather bored. The room where there were no more than five colours. white. black. grey. a darker grey. blue.. Even the television, which was new, only broadcast in simple, painful black-and-white. Give-or-take, his life was monochromatic. Only thing in this house that was blue were his eyes, and the passionate night sky, threatening to swallow the puny struggling stars. A tiny mewl came from across the room. A small white tabby with a raccoon-decorated black face, peered from behind a heap of clothes. Dirty nonetheless, apparently he was much too busy doing nothing-nothing being everything in his opinion-to clean. What good what that do? Well, the girl always cleaned. Menacingly, but she did so. The only friend besides the Girl-and this cat, who was too much like himself in his own opinion-just, worsened the mess, tracking it in from wherever he came, in every way he could. Obviously, this was not his fault, but nonetheless, he was inwardly pushed to remove his friend from the house with a stiff handshake, and a warm wave goodbye. Nothing more. Even when he tried, the other gave nothing more. Until her, they hadn't spoken for months. Which was where the Girl and the cat fit perfectly.
Truthfully, they were just there one day, talking and laughing at things that weren't really funny, but it was nice to hear a voice besides his own, a sweet, nice replacement to the forlorn other. The girl, well into her late teens, possibly even twenties, her auburn hair pulled into double braids, her eyes hazel; brightly mimicking her hair with a small tinge of colour: This was new. The colours were new. She was new. He thought and thought, and decided: he liked new. Her long-sleeved shirt was delightfully bright in colour; this was new and when asked what it was, he received a spitefully confused, "Pink." There was a small window artfully painted onto the chest of her garment. Her skirt was an equally brilliant colour; deeper, darker than her bubblegum top.. "And that colour is..?" "Purple you retard." "That, is not a nice word." he noted quietly, pushing up his glasses with two fingers of his slender right hand, deciding to let the Girl pass.
She has, since then, became a frequent, chipper companion; if she got what she wanted. She has gotten older as well. She has also stopped coming. She used to clean. She has also stopped coming. And she left that blasted animal here of all places-no, he did not mean that. Nevertheless, the house was a mess, like his hair, except not as dark.
His friend has tried to clean in her absence, but he was not good. Not good like the girl had been..
Where was she..?
There never was really an answer, just a simple, evading, "You have me now, not to worry."
And after countless times, he had settled on his dirty house.
Something nibbled his toes; the cat. Thank goodness. Who knows what could be lurking in the plain, menacing black-and-white?
Oh.. Wait.. Nothing.
Something about that was more frightening than a comfort. The tabby heaved her small frame onto the man's lap, and he smiled at her, "Still wanna be me Window, girl?" The animal tilted its head as if confused. "Still wanna leave me Window-Girl?"
It hissed, reaching to claw at his face-oh, just as she had, they were too much alike-, but easily he pulled back. Easily it was avoided, and the cat flew from his lap in defense, springing to the piano.
Aah, the piano. His love, because other loves leave. Other loves die, disappear, hate, forget.. forget..
("Forget")
His eyes trembled delicately as he removed himself from his, comparatively, rather boring chair. He gazed at the instrument's glistening, glamorous keys. How he loved those keys and their fantastic sounds.
He could always depend on it to be there. Could always depend on it to play in the same voice day in and day out. It was not as if it could leave-was he keeping it prisoner? Possibly but such thoughts as melancholic as so.. well they would ruin the lover's appeal. But when was a lover's appeal not melancholic? Not bittersweet..?
He slid onto its bench, with an amorous tinge to his expression, he ran his fingers slowly, softly about its music-making stairs. He pushed his stark fingers against them, beautiful sound.. leaking.. He smiled, familiar notes making his pallid face glow.. His eyes then fell with his expression.
How lovely. How ugly. What memories, no?
Again he was whispering to himself-what a nasty habit-, in an incoherent blather which mattered to none but him. "Wouldn't it be nice if dreams weren't forgotten..?" he softly asked the cat. It purred, nuzzling into the crook of one of her legs. "Eh Window-Girl..?" he smiled, scratching between her ears. "Wouldn't it be nice to be remembered?" He laughed, pulling his hand back. "But that's not what we're for, now is it?" he grimaced, putting up the most disgusted face he possibly could.
Breaking up the most protective wall he could. "We're supposed to help," he spat "We're supposed to protect," he snapped "To love! To care!" he slammed his fists onto the once beloved keys; that's how everything was, Once Beloved. The room lurched. Everything was still; everything was on edge. Cautiously, he began to play the correct theme of passage. "Koko ga kimi no tadoritsuta basho." ("This is the place you have reached.") His face pulled together dispersedly. "Koko ga boku no tadoritsuta basho." ("This is the place I have reached.") His eyes.. t-they stung w-with.. "N-nani..?" ("W-What..?") The tiny salt droplets fled down his face vigorously and his world, in its simple colour, slothfully, turned black, and for the worse.
end.
