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Her eyes fluttered open, and above her, a strange sun blazed with such intensity that it made her squint in painful protest. She found herself in a meadow, waist-high grass brushing against her legs as she walked, her hands gliding across a sea of gold. The rough stalks scratched at her bare legs, and the damp soil squished between her naked toes. This place was beauty beyond words, an ethereal dreamscape that was intangible by design, a subconscious construct meant to fulfill a deep yearning. Yet she could feel it all, every blade of grass, the sting of every pebble underfoot. These feelings would linger like shadows in her mind's-eye, but it was all destined to fall apart. No matter how hard she fought, every detail slipped through her grasp, grains of sand tumbling through the hourglass of her conscious mind.
"Come to me," the words filled her head, carried on a warm breeze that caressed this place. Each syllable flowed down the hills and across the golden plains, right to her waiting and wanting ears.
Up ahead, a rustic cottage sat atop a hill, nestled within the loving grasp of a small grove of purple trees. Weightless, she sailed on the wind, drawn by those words; they pulled her closer and closer until she saw a shape, a man, the man who inhabited her dreams. His gravity was irresistible, like the Earth's pull on the moon. But like everything in this world, she could never hold onto him, the details she could never remember... just the feeling, a feeling that lingered in the back of her mind, he was ever-present.
As she drifted towards the small cabin, a delicate leaf on a warm summer breeze, its old frame growing out of the soil, mixing with the trees around it, they pulsed and radiated with an ancient power. As she approached the threshold, the cabin's gnarled door opened, welcoming her...
She looked up into the sky and thought to herself, "This just won't do." Her words echoed out into this world of hers, each whispered word mixing with the fabric of its reality. White clouds took shape, billowing and blowing, rolling like waves, their light fluffy forms turned gray as they filled with moisture. One by one they merged, forming a blanket that blocked out the rays of her strange sun... until the entire sky was dark and gray. Within that angry darkness, a distant rumbling, like a long-forgotten giant roused from its endless slumber. Thunder growled louder, tumbling across the sky. The clouds let loose, and a gentle rain fell, each droplet pitter-pattering across the dry and thirsty leaves of the grove. The water followed the lines and veins of the leaves, falling across their skin and down onto the old roof of the cottage.
"That's more like it!" she thought to herself. This was her world after all, and she would shape it to her desires. Everything here was a manifestation of her subconscious, that which she did not like could be molded with but a thought.
Standing in the rain for a moment, letting it run across her skin, a perfect summer rain, its warmth covering her, tracing every line of her body as it made its way between her toes and into the cool soil. Suddenly, hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her through the threshold and into the cottage.
Dimly lit, the cottage seemed eternal, an extension of the forest itself. The furniture grew from the floor, roots forming the legs of the chairs and tables. The ceiling glowed with the light of a million fireflies, forming an ocean of joy as they danced and played together, casting their golden light to the room below. Her wet skin carried the golden hue of the dancing fireflies, giving her a heavenly aura. The gentle pitter-patter of rain on the old roof and the beating of her heart filled the quaint room.
His hands slid over her skin like a warm wind, comforting, gentle but full of primordial power, it encompassed her, warmed her, exciting every part of her. Her every nerve is on fire, filling her with anticipation. Insidious words pulled at her soul, ethereal in tone, too perfect for this world.
"Give yourself to me,"
The words danced across her brain, firing every neuron. Igniting her passion, a fire burned hot within her. Her skin glistened with the golden glow of the dancing fireflies, imbuing her with a celestial aura. The gentle patter of raindrops on the timeworn roof, accompanied by the rhythmic beating of her heart, filled the quaint room.
His hands glided over her skin like a warm breeze, both comforting and powerful, evoking primal sensations that enveloped her and stirred every fiber of her being. Every nerve was on edge, suffused with a fiery anticipation. Seductive whispers crept into her soul, ethereal in their perfection, too divine for this world.
"Submit to me," he murmured.
The words ignited her brain, setting every neuron ablaze and fueling her desire. A fire raged within her, driving her towards him.
His hands moved to her shoulders, and with a gentle tug, he freed her from the sheer white dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. The dress slithered down to the floor, exposing her body to him completely, vulnerable yet breathtakingly beautiful. His hands danced like shadows over her flesh, igniting a fierce passion that consumed her.
Beep, beep, beep, beep...
"SHIT, time to go," and just like that, the world fell away, bit by bit. She could hear a faint "Nooooooo!" as the darkness of the dream world melted around her, giving way to the stark light of the tangible world.
"...it's 7:58 in the a.m Pitchford Cove and this is your main man, Rockin Ricky Rialto, bringing you the greatest hits of '84. It's currently a chilly 55 on this fine Monday morning," his smooth hollow voice slid from the tinny speakers of her trusty Sanyo boombox.
"Oh Rockin' Ricky, you sure know how to get a girl going," her chuckling laughter bounced off the walls of her small oasis.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Sitting up in bed, Palmer dug at the krusty sleep that had built in the corners of her eyes. The bright rays of the morning sun burned through the cool fall air that filled the room. She must have forgotten to draw the curtains last night. Her small RCA TV still playing in the background, sleep had taken her prisoner as she watched Dr. Morbius's Midnight Monster Madness.
"Monday... dammit!" Palmer sighed.
"I'm not mentally prepared for school today!" she thought to herself. She flung her blankets off and threw her small legs over the edge of her bed. Tiny feet dangling in the dead dangerous space between the bed and the floor, bait just begging to be eaten by whatever creatures that lurked in the blackness that remained from the night before. In that instant she imagined a dark twisted hand as it crept toward her vulnerable feet, exploding from the darkness to grab her, yanking her down into the void.
She shook her head. "Get a grip kid... Probably something to do with all that Dr.M before bed!" she chucked to herself.
"... Jitterbug... Jitterbug..." the Sanyo on her bedside table blaring out the newest hit from WHAM. She jumped away from the imaginary crooked hand and into the E. T slippers that stood an ever vigilant guard against the hordes that waited under her bed. They were warm and fuzzy guardians.
She shuffled over to the mirror, assessing the damage the night’s slumber had done to her. Looking at herself standing there, so plain, so ordinary, never impressed with the reflection staring back at her. Thick blonde hair, a lion's mane framing her symmetrical yet plain face. Those eyes of hers, green eyes, like creamy Jade. Those perfect eyes drifted down, off of her slightly boney shoulders hung her Iron Maiden world tour shirt. It was her absolute favorite shirt... given to her by her Dad. It was an oversized baseball-t, emblazoned with the image of Eddie, the skeletal mascot of the band. His boney hand smashing through the Earth, fist clenched in a defiant "FUCK YOU" to all the people out there, you know, the ones who think the music is "too loud". The words "WORLD PIECE TOUR '83" scrawled across the bottom. She really loved that shirt, its offensive nature distracting from what laid underneath. It was her shield, armor against an invasive world she never quite felt part of.
And then down to her bare slender legs, smooth and young… They yearned to run, but she had no interest in the organized sports that would allow them to reach their full potential. Finally, down to her feet, which were covered in the stupid vacant look of everyone's favorite alien.
She chuckled again.
She spun around, bopping to the music, the effervescent bubbling energy of youth exploded from within. "... when you hit that highhhh..." George Michael's voice filled her room. She scanned the cluttered floor for her favorite pair of Levi's. “There you are,” The ragged old denim laid in a heap beside her hamper. She stepped into them, feet leaving the warm comfort of E.T's brain box and into worn blue legs, she reached down, sliding the jeans up and over her ass. Pulling on some socks and her old trusty pair of high top Chuck's once white, now a dingy version of their former self... scrawled with the names of bands and all kinds of obtuse doodles. Her go-to way of escaping when she needed to drift away... like on that damned bus... which, she thought to herself.
"I'm gonna miss, if I don't get my ass in gear!"
Palmer's bedroom looked like a tornado had ripped through it, just one giant mess, piles of crap everywhere… Or at least that's the way it appeared to the untrained eye, despite what Mom ‘n Dad thought, she had way more important things to do than clean her damn room. She knew where everything was, that pile in the corner, that’s where her assignment for English was. See… organized chaos.
Blasting into the hall, she awkwardly struggled with both her school bag and her ever-important headphones. Juggling these two things simultaneously proved a challenge as her bag knocked pictures off the wall while she ricocheted down the hall. She imagined she was making the sound of a pinball machine as she bounced from one thing to the next. Clipping her Walkman on her pants, the pocket frayed and worn from constant use; she hit play, that simple little button, unleashing the raw energy within. Maiden filling her ears, guitars screaming, she flew down the stairs, grabbing her brown-bagged lunch which was sitting on the front hall tree.. slapping her little brother across the back of the head as she went. Her mother yelled at her as she rocketed by...
"Palmer, you need to be home for your brother after school, and I mean it," her words barely registered, the syllables of parental orders bounced off the fury of Bruce Dickinson’s powerful scream.
It doesn't get much better than this; she thought to herself. "... Midnight... Midnight..." the music taking her away, lifting her.
She couldn’t help but notice how beautiful it was this morning... cool, crisp air biting at her bare skin. The leaves of the trees looked like fire, reds, and oranges, swaying in the gentle breeze, trying with all their might to hold on. Some lost that battle, falling to the sidewalk below. Covering and blowing down the sidewalk, her "Chuck's" parting the fallen leaves, she registered the dry rustling, but it was more felt than heard.
"Two minutes..." the music screamed in her ears. Driving her on, the music gave her the purpose she needed to cope. Their stop was up at the next intersection, she could see their bus meandering across Elm right now on its way to their stop. Palmer looked back at her brother, what an idiot she thought to herself. Tommy was trying to get his lunch in his knapsack, the brown paper bag had ripped, its contents spilled to the sidewalk below. Tommy's fresh crisp apple bounced across the hard concrete, developing one disgusting bruise after another. He gave chase, his awkward feet kicking it further from his grasp. Salvaging what was left and tucking it into his bag he trudged forward.
"C'mon you little snot," Palmer called back.
Palmer had just started grade 11… A Junior at Pitchford High. Tommy, her little brother, a Freshman. Neither of them were the "Cool" kids, but at least Tommy had found fellow "Nerds' ' to group up with, safety in numbers was a reliable strategy. Palmer found more comfort in her music and movies, they were reliable, she could trust them, Dr.Morbius and his macabre monsters. The classic movies playing down at the Colonial Theater. But like all the loners of this world, she had to deal with the idiots and the bullies, the predators... the "Steve's" and "Ben's" of the world. So every single morning she stepped onto that god-damned bus, and the routine started all over again.
She had made it, looking back she saw Tommy stumbling along, despite his shuffle, he'd get here just in time. Staring down the tree-lined street of Elm she saw the bus. It's yellow form getting closer... stop by inevitable stop. Its old brakes creaked and screeched their protest with every pick-up. The trees from both sides of the street met in the middle above the street, like connected fingers, forming a red and orange canopy. Leaves fell like embers to the dark asphalt below. Kids spilling onto the bus with every stop, clambering for their own space, their own haven. Desperately searching for a seat. Their stop was one of the last, so like musical chairs, their options diminish with each passing screech of those brakes.
Palmer called back to Tommy,
"Move your ass kid, the buss is here,"
With a final creak and screech... the bus lurched to a stop, the giant yellow torture chamber, a mobile lawless zone, where the strong preyed on the weak... it halted directly in front of Palmer. The warm air from the engine wafting up into her face. The smell of rubber and burnt oil permeated the air, filling her nose, replacing the fresh cool morning air with its harshness. The doors strained and broke apart, the rubber seal split, releasing the chaotic cacophony of screams and laughter from within. Looking down at her was the pilot, the captain of this Ferry of the Damned. He was a creepy fellow, adorned in an old grimy green and red sweater, he seemed to enjoy the chaos, reveling in it. He shone a crooked smile at her...
"Goooood morning Palmer, welcome aboard," his raspy voice bridging the gap between them.
"Morning Fred," Palmer called up to him as she took a step forward, lifting herself into this "Lord of the Flies" world. She reaches down and cranks her Walkman to full, Maiden blocking out the noise.
"Here we go again," she muttered to herself.