When the World is Quiet
Link sat up sharply, waking suddenly from deep sleep, trying to flee the dream his unconscious mind had conjured. His heart was pounding wildly and instinctively he brought his hand to his chest, pressing the heel of it against his sternum as if the pressure would somehow regulate the organ's rhythm. His breathing was ragged, frantic as if he had just run a mile, his lungs tight; and it was several moments before he could manage to breath normally. He ran a hand over his face, wiping away perspiration and feeling a small bit of self loathing for its existence. When his mind recalled the images of his dream, he flinched.
Usually, when he dreamed of his mother it was as he had last seen her alive; dressed in her lavender dressing gown, her dark hair pulled over her shoulder in soft waves bound loosely with a ribbon. She had been tucking him in despite his protests that he was too old for such things. When she had kissed his cheek, he had wiped it off grumpily; but she just smiled at him and gave him a gentle pat. The next morning she had been gone, and he was left with that stark memory to haunt him forever.
But this time hadn't been like that.
She'd been in the center of a grand ballroom, dressed in the red ball gown he remembered so clearly that he could see the sequined rose on her shoulder. She had been looking right at him. He knew she was trying to say something to him; her lips moved insistently and her eyes were pleading, but no matter how he tried reach her, the throng of people around him – his agent Harry, his father, Mrs. Von Tussle, and Amber; along with others whose faces he couldn't see – always managed to push him farther and farther away.
His last view of her face had been to see her worried expression as she turned to talk to someone just beyond his vision, and though her lips were moving, he couldn't hear her words… and that was when he had woke up.
Feeling restless with confused thoughts and haunting memories, he threw his blanket aside and flopped back, spread eagle, on the bed; letting the night air cool him. When his heart seemed to have slowed to a more reasonable rate, he climbed from his bed and padded barefoot over to the window. The moon was bright, shining just beyond the large tree that grew outside; the one he climbed down when sneaking out was in order. He let his head rest against the cool glass and looked up at the bit of silver light that he could see.
"Why do I feel like there is something important that I'm missing?" he said aloud, as if the moon might answer him… or perhaps his mother would. He knew that was what she had been trying to tell him in the dream. She wanted to help him understand, and name, the tension he had been feeling lately; but aside from that he wasn't much into dream interpretation. Yet, he could feel it there, nagging insistently at the back of his mind; or somewhere else deep inside him where he couldn't see it clearly. Something was happening, sweeping him along in its wake and he had no idea what it was or where it was taking him.
"I just want things to work out, is that so much to ask? I know what I want… mostly, and I know how I'm going to get there. I don't want to mess things up."
The large orb of silver light did not offer a response; and if his mother did, he certainly couldn't hear her. Still, there was something there pressing at him, calling to him.
He rubbed his hand over his chest again, feeling his heart beating beneath his palm.
He knew who he was; he knew what he was doing. It was just a dream; it didn't change anything. He nodded in agreement to his own inner thoughts and made his way back to the bed, crawling in beneath the blankets.
It didn't change anything at all.