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{Ashley} What Dreams May Come - Part 1
Mar. 15th, 2012 02:12 amMay, 1988
The world was cold, and painted in black and white, washed with the faint blue of the moon. She wandered across the vast swathes of empty ground, stiff and slow, like the dreams of the dead.
She couldn't tell what was happening- the words on her lips were gibberish, and meant nothing to her. Her body was heavy and strange, almost moving on its own. But somehow, it felt right, and it felt glorious to be here in this place, at this time.
She couldn't judge the passing of time, but after what seemed to be years, she stumbled upon a place, bright with colour- blues and greens and bright, sticky reds all bound up in a small, moving form. It lay still, but for the heaving of its chest. The colours startled her, and awakened a hunger within her, the likes of which she had never known.
She fell on the shape, tearing and biting, trying to take the colours from it into herself. She growled softly as she found her hands were weak- why was this thing not still by now? Why was it still struggling and making those senseless, bleating noises? She redoubled her efforts, and snarled again as the bleating grew louder and more urgent.
Suddenly she was snatched up by invisible arms. She shrieked with rage and started biting and kicking as the bright, warm thing shrunk away into the darkness.
"NO!" She cried, writhing in the grasp of her tormentors, and her shouting was answered by a high, keening, piercing sound. "NO, NO, NO, N-"
She woke up to her mother screaming.
"Ashley! Ashley, stop it! Stop it!" She shouted as her father strained to hold her, arms wrapped around her like steel bars.
She stopped struggling, and took in the scene around her. The bedroom was a mess- torn sheets, scattered pillows, tangled curtains everywhere. Who had done that? What had happened?
Then, in the corner of the room, curled up against their mother, was her brother, Martin. He was trembling and crying, for good reason- his face and arms were torn and bloody, and bruises were blooming wherever there wasn't blood.
Who has hurt my brother? she wondered, anger stirring in her breast at the mere thought of it. He's only four. I'll show the-
She looked down at her hands, puzzled that they hurt as she clenched her fists. The fingernails were torn, and they were covered in blood, a testament to what she couldn't remember. What had happened struck her like a bolt from the blue- She had hurt her brother, she had fought her parents when they tried to stop her, and she couldn't remember it at all- only the faintest recollections of a strange dream.
With a soft gurgle, eight-year-old Ashley Jackson swooned in her fathers' arms as the full realisation of what happened swept over her.
( On the other side of the world... )
"We need to get her here as soon as possible. Her time is running out."
The world was cold, and painted in black and white, washed with the faint blue of the moon. She wandered across the vast swathes of empty ground, stiff and slow, like the dreams of the dead.
She couldn't tell what was happening- the words on her lips were gibberish, and meant nothing to her. Her body was heavy and strange, almost moving on its own. But somehow, it felt right, and it felt glorious to be here in this place, at this time.
She couldn't judge the passing of time, but after what seemed to be years, she stumbled upon a place, bright with colour- blues and greens and bright, sticky reds all bound up in a small, moving form. It lay still, but for the heaving of its chest. The colours startled her, and awakened a hunger within her, the likes of which she had never known.
She fell on the shape, tearing and biting, trying to take the colours from it into herself. She growled softly as she found her hands were weak- why was this thing not still by now? Why was it still struggling and making those senseless, bleating noises? She redoubled her efforts, and snarled again as the bleating grew louder and more urgent.
Suddenly she was snatched up by invisible arms. She shrieked with rage and started biting and kicking as the bright, warm thing shrunk away into the darkness.
"NO!" She cried, writhing in the grasp of her tormentors, and her shouting was answered by a high, keening, piercing sound. "NO, NO, NO, N-"
She woke up to her mother screaming.
"Ashley! Ashley, stop it! Stop it!" She shouted as her father strained to hold her, arms wrapped around her like steel bars.
She stopped struggling, and took in the scene around her. The bedroom was a mess- torn sheets, scattered pillows, tangled curtains everywhere. Who had done that? What had happened?
Then, in the corner of the room, curled up against their mother, was her brother, Martin. He was trembling and crying, for good reason- his face and arms were torn and bloody, and bruises were blooming wherever there wasn't blood.
Who has hurt my brother? she wondered, anger stirring in her breast at the mere thought of it. He's only four. I'll show the-
She looked down at her hands, puzzled that they hurt as she clenched her fists. The fingernails were torn, and they were covered in blood, a testament to what she couldn't remember. What had happened struck her like a bolt from the blue- She had hurt her brother, she had fought her parents when they tried to stop her, and she couldn't remember it at all- only the faintest recollections of a strange dream.
With a soft gurgle, eight-year-old Ashley Jackson swooned in her fathers' arms as the full realisation of what happened swept over her.
( On the other side of the world... )
"We need to get her here as soon as possible. Her time is running out."
