I was able to make it home before the storm reached its potential. As I closed the front door behind me, I could hear tree branches rattling against each other as the wind bent them to its will.

I pulled off my shoes, dropping them at the door before climbing the stairs to my room. Vera, my godmother, would be home soon and Jude’s arrival would follow shortly after. I was in no state of mind or body to wait for them. I drowsily changed and crawled into bed, pulling the covers over me and drifting to sleep nearly as soon as my eyes were closed.

As my eyelids closed to my room, they opened to another scene altogether. It was a strange place; simple and uncomfortable. I sat on a pedestal, ankles crossed and hands folded into my lap. There was no back to the chair on which I reposed, forcing my spine to align into perfect posture. I felt out of place and nearly unbalanced. As I opened my eyes, I was looking down at my hands as If I had just awoken in this position.

I raised my head, but there was nothing to see. There was no scenery, as if nothing existed in this blackened realm. The place was difficult to understand and yet easily understood. Though there was nothing, it seemed natural. The only other form of existence was placed directly in front of me, about three feet away. He sat on a similar pedestal as mine and in a similar manner; the only exception being that his ankles remained uncrossed. The man before me was dressed in strange attire, completely drenched in the color black. However, I could faintly make out the glimmer of a red mark on his neck. The shape and size of the mark was hidden from me.

“Who are you?” I asked, and realized how obvious the question was. I knew the identity of this man, but it was hidden from me. He merely shook his head with a look somewhere between anger and pain. It felt as though he were accusing me. I apologized without realizing why or for what the apology was meant.

“Will you speak to me?” I requested.

He did speak, but I could not hear. It seemed as though he was merely mouthing the words rather than actually vocalizing them, but his expression told me that I was merely deaf to him. He spoke gravely, as if he was telling me something crucially important, and I couldn’t bear the fact that I was ignorant to what he was telling me. My eyes welled up in anger, and I blinked rapidly to clear them before I spoke again.

Instead, I opened my eyes back to my room. Light had begun to seep in through the windows, and I could smell fresh rainfall even from indoors.

“Ivy, wake up,” I could hear from beside me. It was my godmother’s voice. I squeezed my eyes together before looking at her in attempt to clear my vision and realized they were filled with tears. Dreams were vivid to me, and I often found myself struggling to separate them from reality. It was strange to me that now I could hear what was being said to me.

“What’s wrong?” I managed to ask. My mouth was incredibly dry.

“Nothing. Jocelynne is on the phone. She wanted to speak with you.” Vera informed me. I glanced at the clock. It was 7 in the morning.

Typical Jocelynne.

Continue to Chapter 3 →

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One thought on “II. Speak to Me

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