Prologue

Our dreams are messages sent by the soul.

    The smell of honeysuckle is what awakens my senses. As the delicate floral scent of the plant works its way into my lungs, my body responds to it as if the scent were the chirping of birds as early morning arrives. I’m suddenly aware of my shaky breathing and dry mouth. My muscles ache as though they haven’t been used for days.

    When I try to move, I realize that my hands are bound behind me. There is a faint rustling of leaves as I try to push myself up off of the cold ground. As I open my eyes it’s as if a shot of lightening is sent ripping through my body. My head screams in protest to the dull light of the cloudy sky looming above, and a small groan escapes my chapped lips.

    Once I manage to push myself up off my stomach, I sit back and try to familiarize myself with my surroundings. When I look all around me, I realize that I am surrounded by the cause of my awakening. I am sitting in the center of a circle of honeysuckle bushes, their vibrant green leaves are accompanied by clusters of small yellow flowers. The sight of their simplistic beauty is almost enough to make me forget about the dull sky, cold ground, and thick rope tightly binding my hands together.

    Using my shoulder, I brush off bits of the forest floor that have stuck to my cheek. My eyes frantically search the ground for a sign of anything that will free my hands from the rope. But the search is in vain. There is nothing in this small clearing of honeysuckle strong enough to cut through the rope. Besides the crisp autumn leaves that cover the earth in a colourful blanket, the ground is bare. I will have to travel outside of the clearing to find something useful.

    I slowly pull myself to my feet. When my eye level rises above the bushes I see that about 10 feet ahead of me is a cliff. Standing in front of the cliff, looking to whatever lies at the bottom, is a boy. As soon as my sight falls upon the boy, my heart begins to throw itself against my rib cage. I can feel my aching muscles tense and my eyes widen. A cold sweat forms in tiny beads upon my skin, and I feel as though my hands could slip free of the rope due to the moisture.

    As if my pounding heart were a queue to address my presence, the boy turns to look at me. No. He is not a boy anymore. His black hair has grown down to his shoulder blades and gently worked its way onto his face. The corners of his lips slowly curve upward as a smile stretches across the man’s face. This simple motion sends my mind into a frenzy. With each pound of my heart, my whole body shakes and I find myself straining to stay conscious as my head starts to spin.

    The man’s smile remains as he reaches out his hand toward me in a gesture to come forward. For a moment I think that the past events must be false. That this man before me is only here to help. He’s smiling. He’s happy. Any protest displayed by my body is from fatigue. The rope restricting motion from my hands, a mere illusion. But this moment, this hope, is lost the moment I look into the man’s eyes.

    The eyes are a window into the soul. One can reveal their entire life with just one glance. When I look into this man’s eyes, I do not feel the comfort that his outstretched hand is offering me; I feel ice. His stare is cold and lifeless. The dark blue resembling that of the ocean, whose currents can pull you under; drown you. Once drowned, he will only leave you with the burning of hell fire.

    I stay rooted to my spot in the clearing, paying special attention to avoid his deathly gaze. It feels like hours pass with us standing there, both waiting for the other to make a move. But it must only be seconds, for I am positive that I held my breath the entire time. I do not dare to take a breath until the moment he opens his mouth to speak.

    “Why don’t you come stand next to me.” The sentence normally used as a question, has no hint of freedom of choice for the recipient. Only a tone filled with demanding intent.

I can’t move, or speak, or concentrate. I can only stare back at him with what must look like a frightened expression. The man lets out a light huff of air at seeing my face. Even when barely audible, his laugh sends chills creeping down my spine.

    “I’m not going to bite you. Not here. I just wish to show you something. Come.”

    At the mention of the word bite, a new feeling fills me. A feeling that I know I should not feel. My heart refrains from smashing against my chest and, instead, a warm ache spreads throughout it. With this burst of warmth coursing through my veins, I step forward. I make my way through the honeysuckle bush. It’s leaves and flowers tickle my skin and the scent makes me feel at ease. When I reach the man, he puts his hand on my shoulder and ushers me closer to the cliff’s edge.

    “I can remember the day you first approached me without violence in your eyes. You chose to set aside what I am, and look at me as a person.” The man doesn’t take his eyes off of me when he speaks; he does not even blink. His tone is now calm and soothing. “I wanted to thank you for that, it meant something to me.”

    While listening to the man’s words I find myself unable to contain a sigh of relief, and I can sense his smiling face looking at me. However, I do not face the man. I know that if I do, I will see his eyes again and my happiness will be drained.
 
    “However,” I cringe as I hear his voice reverting back to its strict and demanding tone. “I am not a person. To look at me as one, you might as well have seen me as a leaf. I am nothing like a human being.”

    My heart begins to pickup its former pace and I feel my body shaking from the words just spoken. And I curse myself. I curse myself for allowing my feelings to be so easily swayed by this one man. I curse myself for the power he holds over me. And, I curse myself that he knows he has this power.

    “Tell me what you see at the bottom of this cliff.” The man says as he motions with his head toward the edge, which lies only a couple of steps in front of us.

    I slowly crane my neck to peek over the edge before uttering a scratchy reply, “Rocks.”

    I jump slightly as the man hums softly in disapproval, “That’s the wrong answer. Look again. Look very closely this time. Why don’t you take a step closer.”

    I swallow what little saliva I have left in my mouth, and I take a shaky step forward to look, once more, over the edge. I lean over, but see nothing. Only rocks. I’m not sure what he’s expecting me to say.

    “Did you see it?” He asks expectantly as I shuffle back from the edge.

    “Only rocks.” I whisper pathetically.

    “Ah, but it’s there, painted on the rocks, glimmering up at you. I’ll give you a hint, it’s not hope.”

    My mind buzzes trying to think of an answer to this riddle, but I can’t come up with one. My mind is too overwhelmed to comprehend anything, and I find myself unable to think at all. So, instead of replying, I just shrug my shoulders.

    The man gives another hum of disapproval before speaking again, “That really is a shame. I thought you’d have seen it by now.” He then leans forward to whisper the answer in my ear. “It’s a glimmer of death.”

    Hearing this I quickly spin around to look at the man. His eyes are now flickering with the sparks of fire that burn behind them. How could I be so foolish to think that he had changed? How could I let him control my mind like that? Was there ever a moment where my emotions were not being played with by this man?

    All of these questions flash through my mind as the man reaches forward and grabs me. I struggle and scream, even though I know that no one will hear me. My struggle is futile without having the use of my hands. He manages get a hold of my arms and face me toward the cliff’s edge.
 
    I can feel his breath on my neck and ear as he whispers, “I would tell you that we’ll meet in the next life but, if everything works as it should, you won’t be in the next life.”

    I can feel a lump rising in my throat and my eyes begin to water as the man gently kisses my neck. My scream doesn’t drown out his last words as his powerful hands push me forward. As I plummet to the sharp rocks below me, the earth rushes by and blurs everything. The whistle of air flowing past my ears seem to cause his words to echo in my head.

    “Good bye, my Soul. Paint the rocks red.”   

Author's Note

Thank you for reading!
Please inform me of any errors you find, and of anything that causes you confusion.

Reviews

[Reba B.]

OMG!!! That was freakin' awesome!! I was confused at first cause of the begginning not being at all like the other story, but once I got to the part where it had the boy and cold eyes I started getting into what was happening more! Also the fact that I knew what was going to happen when she had gotten to the cliff made it even more unbearably exciting cause I didn't know when it would happen or I had the hope that it wouldn't happen or it might not happen XD Man that was awesome!

One part that was confusing was "The hairs lightly covering his chin and upper lip slowly curve as a smile stretches across the mans face." Right at the "slowly curved" part I was thrown off.

After reading about her heart hitting her ribcage the sentence at the end "I can feel a lump rising in my throat..." made me imagine either her heart or soul trying to escape

Chapter 1 must begin soon!!!