It was dark and dusky, as I hid between the old bureaus and bed frames, wooden and covered in dust. The light streamed weakly in through the lace curtains, swaying in the faint breeze. Tattered with age.
They were coming for me. I was among the few remaining inhabitants, and a threat to their system. I was an anomaly and outsider, and it set a sour taste upon their tongues- the knowledge of my existence. I knew I had little time, so my mind danced and raced over all that I knew. All I could do. What should I keep? Should I even bother wasting my time mulling over objects, or simply run with my life? No, they feared me with reason, did they not? I crept over the rickety floorboards, attempting to make as little sound as I could, towards the little glass jar I had always kept near. It rested low on a shelf in the corner of the room, the thick glass coated with a beautifully cut tin filigree pattern, and an intricate lid tightly fixed atop of it. The glass was milky and old, with a coppered hue from the aged metal around it. But you could still see the yellow faintly through to the inside. That beautiful flutter of golden sun. If anything was worth keeping; worth risking what little time I had left before they arrived, it was this.
I grabbed my old canvas jacket from its place, folded higher on the shelf with the rest of what little clothing I had. Wrapping it around me, I turned on my heel and headed towards the closet, opening it up to grab the worn leather satchel hanging inside. Returning from the closet, I retraced my steps, quickly, to the shelf, taking hold of the jar. Its age gave me reason to worry for its safekeeping, so I twisted towards the window and reached out to the nearest curtain with my free hand. I wrested it down from its perch and swaddled my treasure in its depths, before placing the bundle within my bag.
The air swirled with newly rustled dust particles in the waning light. It saddened me to leave this place I’d for so long called home, but they should be out on the cobbled street by now. Giving the room one last look-around, I grabbed an old wooden flute from its perch atop the armoire, a memento from my past. I crept out the door into a narrow hallway, and into the next room on the right. There I grabbed an armful of apples from the basket in the center of the small rounded table, leaving just one behind as I stuffed them into my bag. Perhaps it would be smartest to hide the apple in the cabinet; so as to make the room not quite obviously lived in too recently. I did just that. I’d rather have them guessing at a timeframe than to have it laid out in front of them in the kitchen.
My bag full, I grabbed an extra twist of fabric from the top of a wicker chair before leaving the room. I held it between my lips as I gathered my hair into one hand. I brought the other to my mouth for the fabric and proceeded to tie up my hair.
With my bag slung across my back, I traced backwards into the bedroom I’d once called my own. Quietly slipping back into the closet, I hunched down and pulled the door closed behind me. I reached around the corner of the uneven space, behind hanging dresses; blindly searching for the escape I knew to be there. My hand wrapped around the small knob, barely discernible from the rest of the twisted knots in the woodwork (this was not a prized home, else it would have been made of better lumber). I twisted and gave a hard push, pressing my body and all of its weight against my target. The wall creaked and the door popped, opening inwards toward the small tunnel. A flourish of sawdust and filth filled the air, and I hurriedly made my way into the passage, crouching and blinking away the dust that eventually settled atop my lashes.
I’ve honestly just been so busy and/or tired, running around and getting acclimated to my new post-college life, that I simply haven’t put forth any time to Dusk Dawning. I’ll try to change that. This was a dream (written in this post) that I had back on November 1st, 2014, and have just not found the time to jot it down and post it. In fact, this is only the beginning of the dream. I’ll work on writing out the rest of it, as it is still (somehow- I seriously have no idea how my mind works that it can leave these things fresh in my mind whereas I can’t remember things that happened yesterday) vivid in my memory.
Preston said that even though I get home after work and I’m tired, that I should pursue my writing. My mother’s been receiving copies of children’s books written by a coworker’s wife, lately, and so she has been telling me to try writing kids stories too. It is a way to start, I guess. Preston just told me, “Even if it’s something stupid that you would’t particularly want to write, like Twilight, write it. You read a lot and you know what’s popular. If you can be successful there then you might have the opportunity to write what you want to”. Interesting (no, seriously). I told him that a dilemma I often face is when I think of multiple scenarios and either a)can’t choose between them and end up at a standstill, or b)start writing each option out and then end up with two different stories and twice the work, not knowing which to pursue/complete.
Well, hopefully with this encouragement I’ll get back on track with writing again. It has its vices but I really do love writing, and will always have that dream of going somewhere with it.
That is enough of my rambling though, for one night…
Thanks for reading!