Dream 1.

I had a dream and wrote about it.

Dream 1.

The moment had come. Peering through the glass was the girl balanced on tip-toe, her fingers reached out for questionable comfort in the form of a posed broom handle. The girl’s pupils swelled as they pierced through the stage lighting, focusing immediately on a row of familiar faces; her lover, her father and her grandparents. The girl admired them quietly as they conversed with each other. Blinking, finally, meant that her attention was beckoned away by the ticking of a stark, white clock face. It faced her on the opposite side of the secondary school hall, but as the hands circled their territory the ticking became hollow and loud. The ticking, beating an inflected rhythm, rattled her skull.

9:02pm

“We are running over seven hours late, we really need to hurry” a quaint voice suggested from behind her in the distance. The voice seemed so far away. The voice, a woman’s voice - most likely in her early sixties - did not sound stern but instead concerned. It did not shake. The girl guessed that the wrinkled woman donned a white and powder blue pinafore and always kept her hands in her lap. The girl knew that if she would ever meet this woman that she would be in a position to offer her a pleating pin.

The girl herself was five foot five, wore blonde hair with a fringe and held her shoulders up by her ears. Her face partly hidden, all that you are able to catch sight off is a prominent nose and long eyelashes. Her audience, those who had purchased tickets for a chance to see her on stage, now began to look unsure and confused. Her father squinted his eyes as he shifted the fabric from the wrist, exposing long, black hairs and the slight hum of the backlight of his wristwatch.

The woman’s voice, travelling as purple smog, had been seeking the girl for some time, however the smog did not move as you would expect. It reacted quickly, driving past sharp corners like a fugitive on the run, seeking solace.

The girl sharply turned resulting in a mask of hair as she moved with urgency through the school. Her feet met with cold marble stairs before falling through the backstage door.

9:05pm

The lady stood in the dark room, merely a silhouette of permed curls and a large bosom. Her voice still seemed so far away; it echoed as though the speaker was stranded at the lowest point of a fairytale well. The girl untucked her shirt from her skirt, exposing her belly button. She stood, legs spread for stability and scrambled through a rail of clothing. Unable to find her costume she squatted, pulling blue, green and grey fabric from a carrier bag like a child searching for their favourite toy in a strange environment. The girl realised that she was behind a stage curtain. She overheard dialogue, monologue and a dramatic snog as she found it. A brief flashlight exposed red lace. She held the leotard before her eyes manically, remembering the curve in her hips and the slight rise of her breasts. Her chest moved dramatically now. Blood raced laps beneath her skin. She couldn’t see her black skirt. Was it too dark or was it gone?

Cheers and applause erupted. The curtain was even swaying in appreciation, unconscious of the fact that a blonde face was missing. The elderly woman sighed.  

Holding the leotard in her right hand, the girl gasped as her skirt fell to the floor exposing a tight black skirt. Her cheeks burned.

Crawling along on the floor on her belly, the girl called out for those she admired the most - her lover, her father, her grandparents - but she knew that they would leave her behind. She was able to reveal them in her mind’s eye as she watched them move amongst the crowd towards the exit. Like Mystic Meg she saw them shuffle toward towards the exit and into the bitter, autumn evening. Her father struggled to fit the key into the lock of his black Volkswagen as the rest of the party stepped from foot-to-foot. They continued on with their lives.

9:09pm

She had lost it all. She had lost everything. Purple mist intruded her hair, wrapping ribbons as they whispered in her ear; “You missed it. You missed everything”.

Author's Note

I am a new writer looking for constructive criticism.

Reviews

[Niall Madden]

I enjoy the fact that you use personal experiences as a premise, although I doubt your dreams were this detailed. However this is good as it shows clear creative skills Although I must admit this lead to me being confused as you labelled times in your story and I was unsure whether they were inner dream or outer dream times. I enjoyed the obscure feel as everything was very vague. However this lead to an almost vacant feel by the end, I am unable to decide if the lack of emotion aided the story or not but good use of language :)