Waking Dream
Sep. 10th, 2012 01:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
n3m3sis43He doesn't usually come to the bridge at night. He couldn't stand the sound of the storm.
Before, he had a life, small but his. Sunrises, walks in the park, evening cups of tea. Sleep was soft and warm like the quilt on his bed. He didn't fear the rain against his roof. Nameless terror colors everything now. The morning sky, wind through the trees, nightfall most of all. It wraps him in darkness, pins his limbs and stifles his screams.
Lightning splits the sky above his head. The bridge disappears.
They're arguing - bitter words and drops beating on glass. Tires screech. Metal screams against metal. They're soaring, then falling. Water rushes in. He's frozen. Hands tug at him as he submits, inhales, relaxes.
There's a blinding white flash and nothing more.
Back on the bridge, he grips the slick rail so hard his shoulders hurt. Wet hair drips into his face; that must be why his eyes are streaming. Shivers wrack his body - it's only a chill from his sodden clothes. Breathing in ragged gasps, he sits down and hugs his knees. If the crying he's not doing makes any noise, it's lost in the wind.
It's dawn when the storm abates. Head pounding, he turns to go. He doesn't think about the accident, the geode on his desk, the girl who gave it to him. Better not to remember.
He's almost home before he realizes. It's stopped raining.
Why is my face still wet?
Before, he had a life, small but his. Sunrises, walks in the park, evening cups of tea. Sleep was soft and warm like the quilt on his bed. He didn't fear the rain against his roof. Nameless terror colors everything now. The morning sky, wind through the trees, nightfall most of all. It wraps him in darkness, pins his limbs and stifles his screams.
Lightning splits the sky above his head. The bridge disappears.
They're arguing - bitter words and drops beating on glass. Tires screech. Metal screams against metal. They're soaring, then falling. Water rushes in. He's frozen. Hands tug at him as he submits, inhales, relaxes.
There's a blinding white flash and nothing more.
Back on the bridge, he grips the slick rail so hard his shoulders hurt. Wet hair drips into his face; that must be why his eyes are streaming. Shivers wrack his body - it's only a chill from his sodden clothes. Breathing in ragged gasps, he sits down and hugs his knees. If the crying he's not doing makes any noise, it's lost in the wind.
It's dawn when the storm abates. Head pounding, he turns to go. He doesn't think about the accident, the geode on his desk, the girl who gave it to him. Better not to remember.
He's almost home before he realizes. It's stopped raining.
Why is my face still wet?
