Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality?
.
"There's someone here to see you," said the young woman. Her dark eyes were wide, almost blank looking, and she had the wide psychotic grin to match it. A long, floor length dress, made of cardinal silk was all she wore. It was strapless, and draped in layers around her willowy skeleton. Her hair was a deep cinnamon, and she stood in the doorway of the small bedroom, her comment addressed to the only on inside.
A young girl, around four or five, sat on a large square pillow in front of a panoramic flat screen television that took up most of the room. Her hair was caramel, as was her skin. The dress she wore was a delicate lavender, and was cut like a princes gown; it puffed outwards near her hips and nearly covered her frilly white socks and ebony dress shoes.
"He asked for you by name," said the woman, her smile never wavering an inch. She stepped aside to allow the young man behind her to enter.
The room was silent, save for the television, which was playing an assortment of lively cartoon clips. As the upbeat music played, the cheerful figures swayed to the music in repetitive, flowing movements.
The young man stood in the room, fists clenched tightly and an apprehensive look on his face. Within one of his hands he carried a slim brown rod that resembled a tree branch the way it narrowed at the tip.
Slowly, the girl turned around and looked upwards from where she sat.
"Have you come to kill me, Mister?"
Her eyes were blank and unforgiving. Just like his brother's.
.
Chapter One: Empyreal Encounter
It was mid-day, warm, and Samuel was outside on the roof of his school. He looked down. Lunch. He was having lunch. There was quite a spread, more than he usually ate, actually. On the large red and white checkered blanket where he was sitting he could see the contents of his meal. There were a couple of cucumber sandwiches, a bottle Coca-Cola with perspiration running down the still cold bottle, and two bags of Lays potato crisps, original flavour.
In his hand was a Coke, and a drop of water ran down his hand, which was numb from the temperature of the drink. He sighed and took a sip.
"Sam?" said a voice behind him.
At that he started; it was odd, he thought he had heard a voice, hadn't he? A girl's voice. That was impossible, he couldn't dream of a girl noticing him in a million billion—
"I'm boring you aren't I?" said the voice again.
He must have been losing his mind.
But then again, he might not have been.
Two tan arms encircled his neck from behind, and he could feel the light impression of lips brush against his hair.
Say something, idiot! said his mind.
"Uh…" was all he could mutter, before looking to the ground.
"I am a bore, I guess," said the girl. Her voice was light, beautiful of course, but had a slight…American accent to it. He had yet to see her face, and the worst part was that he couldn't help but wonder if it all was a dream.
It had to be. No one was interested in him personally. No one.
"You're not a bore," said Samuel, unwilling to let this end. Inevitably, though it had to. All good things end, and he figured he'd prolong this one as much as possible. "You're wonderful."
"Do you mean it?"
The wind blew past, swirling her scent around him. It was a mix of fresh aloe and sweet marigold.
"Yes," he said. "Yes."
.
Penelope's eyes fluttered open. She often forgot how odd dreams could feel. Sometimes she felt detached from her body in real life, as if she were a balloon about to float away. In dreams, that wasn't the case. She was free, but she felt more secure; grounded was a better term for it.
She removed the line from her arm and allowed it to snap back into the PASIV. Penelope did the same for Samuel, who returned to the simulated environment she had constructed. Once she had reached a certain point in the dream, she allowed him to construct the rest of it himself. She checked her watch. The face was a large flat rectangle with no numbers, and it was still glowing green. Good then. The dream was still stable, and the plan had worked.
Now, on to Extraction. And later on, the inevitable Inception of his father's ultimate goal.
Penelope looked at the sleeping boy and cursed mentally.
He was too effing sweet to manipulated this way, but a job was a job.
.
Please R&R!