Kayla Michaels lives without guilt (thekappa) wrote in musingslogs, @ 2010-09-24 23:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | cinnamon spider, freddy krueger |
Who: Charlie and Kayla
What: Making friends
Where: Kayla's dreams
When: Tonight
Warnings: Warnings for disturbing imagery, vaguely suggestive dialog, and everything that makes you squirm uncomfortably. (aka: Kayla's a friggin' creeper)
The world outside had melted away and reformed something new and old at the same time. She had seen these wheat fields a thousand times before, their rolling waves burned into her memory. But this blood red barn was new. She leaned against the white doorway, cheek scraping the splintering wood as her blue gaze focused on the golden kingdom before her. It was utterly flat, without hill or valley, with only a moderate wind to create the illusion of depth. As the grain stalks swayed, she too could feel herself swaying with them. She lived and breathed in them, the water in their cells and stalks.
When she opened her eyes, the landscape had changed dramatically. The beautiful golden wheat fields were a sallow yellow, drenched by a torrential downpour that drove daggers into the roof of the barn. She could hear the thud-thud-thud of rain droplets above her, the sound comforting. With every droplet, she felt a piece of herself float away into the universe and return in a harsh curtain that fell over the barn's open doorway, a curtain that was so close to her that it threatened to soak the tip of her nose.
She extended her tongue, the tip catching in the rain curtain and capturing a little cup of fresh rainwater that drained into her mouth. A smile formed on her lips as she felt the drink go down, rolling from tongue to throat to stomach. She absently placed a hand on her stomach, digging her nails through the material of her flannel shirt. It was a red plaid button-down, the sort her father had always worn when she remembered his face. The neck was far too big for her, gapping around her collar, while it ended halfway down her otherwise bare thighs - long enough to be a dress in its own right. Her bare feet kneaded the floor, toes flexing and curling as if she were trying to form a connection with the Earth beneath her. She wanted to know what it was feeling now, what it felt like to be stabbed with a thousand little water knives. Perhaps she would have to try that on herself some time.