The world bounces around as if someone was shaking it. The forbidden beauty walks through the door, glowing like an angel. Her elegant red dress flows like lava, hot destructive lava, and instantly my heart is off to the races. There she is. I think to myself. Right there in front of me. Say something you idiot! I yell at myself without much luck and find myself speechless as she stands over me. In a flash her back faces me, her beautiful night-skin contrasting the fresh blood-red of her dress.
Zilia, descendant of the gods, sits down in front of me. The class room glows from the light that she radiates. My lungs freeze to ice, but my heart races on without them. Paralysed I sit there, watching the ever-flowing locks of night that fall from her head dance in the slight breeze. I never understood why they are always dancing, even when there is no wind. Her dark locks dance with each other, never inviting anything else to join them in their elegant dance.
“Zilia!” A voice cries out from the doorway. It is unfamiliar, but female. A distressed and lost female by the sounds of it, stumbling through the endless darkness that comes when the night-eyed girl is not around.
The night-eyed girl ignores the call for her, and stares straight ahead of her. I lean over a bit, but not enough for her to notice for I am terrified of talking to her, and try to get a peak of what she is looking at. A grand tree stands off in the distance, feeling thousands of miles away yet closer than anything else at the same time. The goddess of the night stares at it unrelentingly, and as I reach to touch her shoulder out of sheer impulse, it bursts into flames.
“Yes, Styr?” She says to me, asking what I wanted but not expecting an answer. My mouth opens to reply, but my lungs are frozen, unaffected by my burning heart. If only I could overcome this barrier. My hand reclines like an injured animal. I sit back down into my seat, thinking about what to say, if I can manage to say anything.
“The Fire...” I strain to push out of my lungs that were frozen by the night. I mentally pat myself on the back, and feel happy that I managed to get any words out at all. But now I stand at a standstill. If she doesn't answer back, what should I do? What can I do? Not even with my chaotic blood-red hair can I keep myself sane around her. I become mad, obsessed, dangerous. But I would never hurt her, so the only question is who am I really dangerous to?
“Don't worry about that, oh grey-eyed one. The lively green angers me, turns me burning hot inside. So I destroyed it.” Her eyes remain locked on the murderous fire that burns on the grand tree. It rages and rages, but the tree somehow keeps itself alive. Zilia's dress ignites like fire, no longer being only crimson red, but orange and yellow as well.
“Are you sure you want to do th-” I almost finish my sentence before her black eyes are upon mine and I'm frozen to stone. I can't move, trapped forever in her cold eternal embrace. The night goddess shakes her head at me and mouths some words to me. Do. Not. Doubt. Me.
My heart tries to break free, rushing to escape the icy embrace of a goddess. It pulls me towards the grand tree, which burns ferociously, but no scars are formed. The tree seems to be immune to Zilia's tricks, and one part of me is actually curious enough to tempt the wrath of the goddess just to go see what makes this tree so strong. But I would never make it there. The night-eyes disappear as quick as they appeared, sending me into a state of confusion. Where did she go?
“Do not disobey me, Styr, and all will be as you wish.” Her voice whispers into my ear, like a deafening wind that some people try to block out. But not me. I embrace her controlling voice, seeing as her voice is the only connection I have to her. A flame erupts across my body, burning me severely. The pain is unbearable and I try to drop and try to put it out, but I can't move. I can just stand there and burn as Zilia, the night-eyed goddess, watches me with entertained eyes.
“Wake up, Styr! We're almost there!” Reality says, knocking down my doors of imagination and forcing me to rejoin the 'real world' with everyone else. The fires fade away and the night-eyed goddess fades from my vision. Confused, I am not sure whether or not I'd rather have stayed asleep.
“Shit, already?” I ask Michael, surprised that the bus ride to school felt so short compared to most days. He nods, with his little brown Mohawk cutting through the air in front of him. Michael’s a punk, essentially. He spends most time listening to heavy rock music and playing guitar in his leather jacket. He hates authority and he especially hates the so called 'popular' kids. The only problem with this is that Zilia is one of those 'popular' kids, but he respects me enough not to judge her. In front of me at least.
“Yeah, man. You slept through the whole ride. Welcome to grade twelve.” He laughs, expecting me to fail the year due to my obsession with dreaming. Everyone's allowed to have dreams right? Why can't I follow mine? I barely passed grade eleven because I slept through so many classes. It was so bad that after a while the teachers would just leave me there and wake me up when school was over. I don't believe any of them quite liked this, but I'm sure they preferred it over me being loud and obnoxious like I was before the dreams began.
“Don't worry, man. I got this. How hard can it be?” I ask him, cursing myself in the process. Of course I have to screw myself over at the beginning of the year. Doing it at the end just isn't enough fun. You're fluent in sarcasm, right? Good. I hate it when people don't quite get it. Sometimes, however, it leads to some pretty good jokes. Mostly blond jokes, but don't worry about it, the blonds around here don't really get them too much. I don't know what it is, but they have a tendency here to get concussions a lot. It's very rare to find an intelligent person around here to begin with, yet alone specify hair color.
“You are so screwed, buddy. But good luck. Maybe you should invest in sleeping more at home.” He suggests, just trying to be a good friend, despite doubting me so soon. I nod at him, knowing that it won't help. Something about these dreams tell me that the solution to them is not hidden in how much I sleep, but more how I act on them in reality. It is sort of like that one thing that you know you have to do, but can't decide to do it anyways. I guess I'm trapped by the night goddess. “And maybe a good haircut, too.”
My hair drops down in front of my face, covering half of it in a bloody mess. He's right, I do need a haircut. People already stare at my hair enough as it is. The last thing I need are 'Jesus from hell' jokes. “You're right, come on. Let's get of this goddamned yellow submarine.”
“It's too early in the morning for bad Beatles jokes.” He replies, laughing at me as he stands up and walks out into the empty aisle. “You coming?” I grab my leather single strap bag and slide out into the aisle after a quick look out of the window. Off in the distance I can see that familiar green, like the grand tree, hidden in the crowd heading into our crappy high school. I mentally freeze and think about it as I walk down the empty aisle and off of the bus. The husky thing drives away shortly after I get off, leaving a dust cloud behind it, enveloping me in it.
My sight is limited because of the dust cloud, but I walk towards the school. I know exactly where it is because I've walked this path a thousand times at least at this point. Even more if you consider I do it twice a day, and this is my fourth year at the school. I make my way out of the dust cloud without much trouble and find myself alone outside of the school. How did I lose Michael so quickly? I pat some dust out of my 'needs to be cut' hair, and some crimson locks of hair fall down with it, forming a strange pattern on the ground. I look at it, thinking it looks cool, but quickly kick it away as I rush off to class.
I burst through the door of room 127, rushing to the seat right beside Michael. “What happened to you?” He whispers as I sit down, already wanting to sleep on the desk. I look around the oddly familiar room and find nothing too familiar. I probably had class in here before a few years back. I shrug at Michael and take a notebook out of my bag. “Finally taking notes?”
I shake my head at him. “Working on a story.” I tell him quietly, so that the teacher doesn't hear us talking. Despite all of our efforts to assure that we are not heard, Ms. Thrasher seems to pick up on it and gives us a dirty look. Our eyes meet and I realize that she is about to give us trouble for talking in her class, but she's quickly cut short from her rampage of terror by someone opening the door. Score! I think to myself. Someone who's later than I am!
The world bounces around as if someone was shaking it. The forbidden beauty walks through the door, glowing like an angel. Her elegant red dress flows like lava, hot destructive lava, and instantly my heart is off to the races. There she is. I think to myself. I must be going crazy.
“Did you notice that shaking?” I quick turn and ask Michael, never letting my eyes leave the goddess. He shoots me a 'are you insane' look, and shakes his head. I really am insane, especially when it has to do with Zilia. “Must have been my imagination acting up again.” The worst part is that my imagination messes with my reality on a daily basis and I'm not always sure when it does. It's kind of like dreaming with your eyes open, but without realizing it and you also tend to look more insane. Much more insane.
“Dude, you really gotta sleep more, but dream less. Frig, your dreams are making their way into reality. Careful.” Michael, the voice of reason, says as he laughs. “You don't want them to become nightmares.” The truth-teller continues, warning me of my own downfalls.
“I'll try, thanks.” The night-eyed girl repeats her motions from the dream, sending me into a twisted version of reality embraced by insanity. She begins to glow, bringing the dream into an all-too real state. Something inside of me understands and knows that the goddess's glow is fake, fabricated. It's all in my head. I cannot forget that .
Locks of night fall from her head, enveloping her shoulders and neck in a smooth and seemingly endlessly deep darkness. The starless night-sky of her eyes stares through the wall of the classroom, as if the grand tree can be seen on the other side of it. I lean over, trapped by the laws of the dream world. Nothing of interest rests before her godly eyes, and my arms extends itself to touch her shoulder. Still trapped, I almost reach her smooth night-skin with my hand, but I freeze as a voice is heard.
“Alright, class. Take out a notebook. We'll be covering The Iliad today. Tell me, who is the main hero of the Iliad?” Our professor says, breaking me free from the dream. I withdraw from my position, retreating from my attempt to seize a touch from the sacred goddess. “Styr? How about you?”
Quickly my grey, indecisive, eyes flash to meet the professor's eyes. The raincloud eyes quickly shift away from Thrasher's eyes, trying to take as much sights in as possible. “Achilles, the raging lion, and Hector, the gentle protector.” She gives me a confused look, and shakes her head.
“No, Styr. One hero, not two. Choose one.” Her demanding voice echoes through the room and my eyes bounce away from hers, leading back to the night in red that rests in front of me. A small pocket mirror materializes in Zilia's hand, reflecting the world at an angle.
My mind returns to the task at hand and I shrug, without lifting my eyes from the mirror. Slowly the gaze of the mirror slides from the fiery red of the dress to the smooth night that composes Zilia, the goddess. “I can't choose between them, miss. The Iliad begins with Achilles, the raging lion, and ends with Hector, the breaker of horses.”
The teacher nods at me. “You're right. But, you know that almost the entire collection focuses on Achilles, right? Hector is a secondary character, and I'll show you why.” She imposes her ideas on the class, silencing me, the individual who won't agree. My hand shoots up, as if it had a mind of its own.
“Am I not allowed to have an opinion of my own without being told I am wrong? Makes me wonder if you'll be teaching us conformity through practising it.” I reply boldly, flames seemingly bursting from my mouth. A blurred feeling overtakes me, numbing my care for the people around me.
“Excuse me, Mister Izbor, but if you have a problem with how, and what, I teach, you can leave.” Professor Thrasher tells me in an offended voice. The darkness in front of me fades slightly, allowing the fresh blood-red to come through instead. My books collect themselves and replace themselves in my bag.
Michael nudges me. “What are you doing?” He exclaims, but keeps the volume under a whisper. I shake off his nudge, and go to answer him, but find myself distracted by something else. Eyes as dark as night stare at me from the reflected version of the world. A goddess is watching me. I freeze, frozen by her icy stare.
“Sorry, miss. I won't do it again.” The words slip out of my mouth like a snake slithering through the desert sands. The blurred feeling fades, being replaced by the intense beating of my forgotten heart. The eyes of the night control me, sending me into a passive state. The thumping becomes all I can hear, and Zilia is all that occupies my mind. I am trapped once more by this goddess's spell. I feel the fire raging in the distance, started by the icy glare of the fiery night. It attempts to destroy the grand tree, I feel it trying. But I know somehow that the fire will not destroy the tree, much like rain will not kill the fire. To kill either, one must suffocate the source.
The goddess who torments my dreams, and my reality now, enforces her power over me by keeping me silent for the rest of the class. Time seemed to fly by, for it felt like mere seconds before the one hour that was left was over. I think the bell has already rung, considering most of the class is flowing out of the room like the drops of water that form a waterfall. Coming back to reality, I sent my bag over my shoulder and took off, slipping through the crowd.
My hand slips into my pocket, mimicking the snake-like words that I could not control. A paper, unfamiliar in its being, touches the curious fingertips of my rough but sometimes soft skin. What is this paper? Where did it come from? I question myself as I slowly wrap a finger around the paper. I consider taking it out of my pocket, and find the decision harder to make. What if something on the paper is more twisted than my own dreams? What if it is real, and not a fabrication of my imagination like so many other things are? What then?
Dear Styr, foolish mortal boy,
There is something I had intended to tell you, many years ago, but never got around to it. I, myself, am far too busy to be bothered with such trivial things most of the time. You are very lucky that I took the time to write this letter and slip it into your pocket when you weren't paying attention to anything like the moron that you are. Never forget that I am always in power, and you'll do fine with my proposition. My name is Zilia, as you know, much like a devout follower would know the name of his god. I suppose this is the same idea, except for the fact that I surpass the gods and that you are less than a devout follower. If you wish to speak to me, and have my voice echo through your mind forever, meet me in the moonlight of the coming full moon. You will know where to meet me. Your dreams will tell you enough.
There is something I had intended to tell you, many years ago, but never got around to it. I, myself, am far too busy to be bothered with such trivial things most of the time. You are very lucky that I took the time to write this letter and slip it into your pocket when you weren't paying attention to anything like the moron that you are. Never forget that I am always in power, and you'll do fine with my proposition. My name is Zilia, as you know, much like a devout follower would know the name of his god. I suppose this is the same idea, except for the fact that I surpass the gods and that you are less than a devout follower. If you wish to speak to me, and have my voice echo through your mind forever, meet me in the moonlight of the coming full moon. You will know where to meet me. Your dreams will tell you enough.
The letter stopped my heart, and quickly found its way back into my pocket. The full moon, when is it? The last time I saw the moon was a year before tonight, for many people dare not enter the night anymore. It has been no more than an hour since last I saw Zilia. What caused such a sudden change in the state of things? I'm obsessed, and I know it. But she does too. It seems like my dreams are somehow known to the goddess of the night, revealing a power I did not think she had before.
“Styr!” Michael yells at me from down the hall as I stand outside of my classroom in a trance. I slip the note into my pocket and try to snap myself out of my deep abyss of thought about Zilia, the goddess of night. Just the thought that she would slip me a message in her own handwriting surprises me. Who am I to receive her attention? Lower than a “devout follower” as she put it, and she is greater than the gods themselves. It's insane to believe I have any chance with this girl. I don't. This is all just some twisted torment that I have subjected myself to. Those dreams...
“Yeah?” I say, sounding as relaxed as possible. The less he knows, the better it will be.
“Zilia... She...” My dearest friend begins to say, sounding scared to tell me what he had intended to. My heart begins to race with the thought that something might have happened to her. I wish my friend had the courage of a lion like Achilles, and a blinding rage that would allow me to continue along with my business in peace.
“What happened? Tell me!” I reply, suddenly feeling panicked. If she's dead, I'll never see her in the moonlight like the note promised. My mind sprints like a panicked deer, bounding all over the place, looking for peace.
“I can't say... Come with me...” He says quietly after attempting to tell me multiple times unsuccessfully. Slowly, he walks away. I follow hesitantly, afraid to come across a mangled body of a fallen goddess. An image of Zilia's divine body appears in my head, slowly twisting around itself, breaking bones and spraying blood that is the same color as her dress. Her body snaps in half, revealing nothing but her disgusting insides. Her face begins to twist and turn now, but smiles at me like a god-forsaken devil. The fallen goddess's jaw slowly opens, and continues to open until it cannot open anymore. Her smile rips apart, making her twisted face an even more twisted sight. Her tongue hangs from her jaw like she is some sort of undead creature. Her beauty is destroyed.
“There she is.” Michael tells me, pointing up at something. I'm afraid to look, but I quickly take a look around the area and realized that I followed him outside. A grand tree stands in front of me, resting in the middle of a lush meadow. The leaves of the grand tree bear many shades in the beautiful sunlight. For a moment I forget entirely about Zilia, remembering nothing about the image of her attempting to burn this very same tree. I feel at peace for once, and happy. No longer do I feel tormented or lonely. There's a presence here, something bringing me the most relaxing peace. My ever-shifting eyes slow in their panicked sprint, and my crazy heart regains its sanity. My chest rises and shrinks slowly, each breath becoming an embraced pathway to life. But this beautiful innocent bliss of mine cannot last. My eyes find Zilia's image in the tree, looking down at the ground both fearfully and hatefully.
“You there!” She yells at us from the grand tree. Her voice hatred and anger, attacking the tree by screaming at us. “Get me down from here! I'll have this tree burned to the ground!”
I yell back up, currently feeling comfortable with the position I find myself in. “How did you get up there?” I have a feeling Michael is holding back an incredible laughing fit. If I were him, I wouldn't hold it back. But if I were to laugh, she would destroy me in moments.
“I don't know. I just did.” She replies rudely, and makes a motion for us to come closer. “Let me get down already, you damned tree.” The night stands in the grand tree, stopped in its tracks by the ever-growing trunk. I approach the tree, with my heart beating like a madman's drum. I stare into the golden-brown trunk and I easily find a way to climb up into the grand tree's endless branches. The bark of the tree is soft to the touch, and warm as well. I couldn't imagine anyone ever wanting to burn it. Then I remember the night goddess, the night-eyed girl who hates the tree with all of her being. She wants to burn the tree, something we could never replace. The peace is far too good for the night goddess.
“Give me your hand.” I tell the goddess after some consideration about how I am going to get her down. The night's hand stretches out to me, seeming to burn on contact with the sun. I reach out my own pale-yellow hand and touch her distant hand. The goddess's hands are ice-cold, almost freezing my hands on contact. But the contact itself brings me a heart rush, setting me on fire, her freezing fire. The contact empowers me, giving me the belief that I can fly. Obviously I can't, but I sure as hell believe I can. I absorb this wonderful energy that comes from the contact with the night-eyed goddess. I attempt to consume as much as possible, slowly pulling her closer to me so I can escort her down from the grand tree. She doesn't belong up here.
The night grunts and slowly comes closer, snaking her way off of the branch that she stands on so angrily. As she snakes her way across the branch, that held her as if just to wait for the perfect moment to strike, a small crack can be heard from the branch. I reach back and grab another branch to stabilize myself first and get ready to either drop the goddess, or save the night. I await for the snap of the branch impatiently, and wonder which one of the mighty heroes of the Iliad I would most closely represent at this point. If the branch breaks, will I become a raging lion, or a gentle protector?
The strong, ever-lasting, tree branch snaps under the weight of the night and sends the night-eyed girl plummeting to the ground. A scream pierces my ear, reminding me of the screech made from dragging nails down a chalkboard. An almost overwhelming pull tugs at my arm, and I almost let go of the night-eyed goddess. She swings like the end of a flail does when someone attempts to kill someone with it, and strikes the tree with a loud thud. The goddess gives out a groan of pain, but as I look down at her, I see how little she fits in here. The beautiful green grass, the soft brown trunk, the shining sunlight, it's all contrasting against her fresh blood-red dress and her own dark complexion. She's like a vampire, shrinking away from daylight, but thriving in the darkness that comes after the sun rests over the horizon. She is the night. So what does that make me? I am not dark, but I'm not exactly light either. I'm not a hero, but I'm not a villain either. What am I? Who am I?
My grey eyes go to stare into hers, but not once do her eyes ever look at mine. Her night-eyes reject mine, but I await for them to accept mine nonetheless. The rainclouds that occupy my eyes stir and change impatiently, waiting for something to happen. Should I let her drop from here? Or should I pull her back up into the grand tree that she would like to see burned? I don't know what to do. It's as if there is nothing I can do, as if I am useless right now.
“Well are you going to let me drop now? I can almost touch the ground.” Zilia interrupts my thoughts, deciding for me. Hector it is. I nod at her and slowly reach down, putting her divine feet on the ground softly so that they would not be hurt. “That's a boy. Now, I will see you in class.” She says coldly before walking away angrily. Fires dance around her as if they follow her rage, worshipping her like I do. Perhaps if I were to become fire, I would be able to get closer to this mysterious and divine night-eyed girl. But how do I become fire?
“Well that was funny as shit!” Michael bursts into laughter after the night is far out of ear-shot. “She doesn't know how she got up into the tree? What the hell did she do in the past hour?” The honest one laughs excessively taking great pleasure in the goddess's suffering. I laugh along with him, but I don't mention anything about my most recent dream about Zilia. I stand there, in the grand tree, the same exact one from the dream and realize maybe she really doesn't know how she got there. Maybe there's something about the tree that tricked her into getting into it. I know I must sound insane, talking about the tree as if it was human. I spoke about the fires as if they were, so I guess it's only fair.
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Here's the new introduction from my nanowrimo, which is currently at about 43 thousand words, beating "The Beginning of The End" at last! I recently found myself unable to write like I have been for the story the past few weeks. Ironically, the second week, not the fourth, is thought to be the hardest. Well, I have never really been one to experience the same difficulties as some people. Anyways, you'll notice that it's a bit longer and for some reason the whole post is double spaced (I have no idea how that happened. Damn copy pasting from openoffice!) Recently my life has once again found itself crazy, what with school and all. Essays left, right, and center, disturbing my creative writing. Nanowrimo's doing a good enough job at that. I'm hoping I can get it done sooner than the 30th so that I can focus more on my school work. I'm notorious when it comes to finishing school work. I honestly have no idea how I do it all in time. I guess with all of my usual writing, essays don't really seem all too difficult. Finding secondary sources on "The Crucible" still sucks though. Anyways, I'm going to hop off and get back to writing... Or sleeping... Which ever comes first. Take care!
-Zero
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