Kayla Michaels lives without guilt (thekappa) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2010-12-28 00:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | cinnamon spider, dream |
Who: Tristan and Kayla
What: A nocturnal meeting
Where: Kayla's Dream
When: Tonight
Warnings: See "Where." All potential Kayla warnings apply, will update this if anything dramatic happens.
The harvest season was over with, leaving the rolling cornfields barren and stubby. What was once a swaying, vibrant creature had become a nubby corpse. Gone were the stalks that rustled when she ran through them, the long leaves that brushed her face and tickled her arms. Only now was the flat land really visible, the lack of hills or valleys made painfully obvious by the short stalks that littered the landscape.
She laid in the center of this ever-expanding universe, arms and legs spread like the points of a cross to the four directions: north, south, east, and west. Her bare toes caught whistles of wind between them. The hem of her oversized shirt fluttered against her bare thighs as if hoping to remind her that it was still there. Sometimes she forgot herself. It was so easy to be swallowed by the universe, to allow the earth and air wage a battle over her hollow shell of a human body.
Her fingers were like the legs of a spider, walking slowly from the indent of her belly button up to the dip of her throat. Sometimes her eyes were open, sometimes they were closed – it didn’t matter. She saw the same regardless, that familiar black and blue sky streaked with smears of angry orange that so reminded her of her own skin.
Taking a deep breath, she felt her chest rise and fall like the crashing of tides she had read about but never seen. Static ran down her arms and she could feel the weight of her hair streaming beneath her head. The gentle breeze enveloped her body in its embrace, combing fingers through her hair and tugging at the drooping hem of her shirt. Though she knew on some level of consciousness that she was hovering, it was so natural that she didn’t bat an eye.
Heaving a sigh, she pulled her arms in and rolled, hair whipping wildly about her face until she fell still on her back once more. She wasn’t sure why, but the laughter bubbled up from her chest like water out of a spring, and she couldn’t keep it down. Strands of blonde remained wound around her neck and face, catching in her mouth as she belted out laugh after laugh. Her fingers clenched in the material of her shirt, tugging on it as if wearing the garment were keeping her from reaching the next level of enjoyment at whatever cosmic joke was tickling her fancy.