Uneventfully Outlandish
“Can’t you hear it?” A voice asks, its words softer than the finest of silks; quieter than the deadest of mice. Your eyes snap open; glancing about your bedroom, you find each of your belongings is fading, dipping into dancing shadows; slipping into specks of mere dust. You find yourself whisking away, soaring into the heavens. You open your mouth to scream, plead for help. Not a word; not a sound; not a noise falls from your tongue.
Your heart shrieks as it throws itself at your ribcage, beating relentlessly, ruthlessly against the marrow in hopes of freeing itself from the bars of bone that hold it captive. Your tongue feels of lead; your mind of molasses as sluggish thoughts and notions whir through your head. Nothing, nothing, nothing but silence fills the emptiness now surrounding you. It’s heavy; dead-weight. “Well,” the voice speaks once more. “Do you or do you not, silly child?” Your lips move upon their own accord. “Hear what, exactly?” A shrill giggle reverberates throughout the dusky landscape of dead-weight and—was that a levitating teapot? A radiance begins to fester, begins to bubble up from the once dank void; it sprouts from that gliding teapot, that gliding teapot that rose from nowhere in particular. You cannot help but gaze at such colors, such radiance; all too alluring. A siren with no song, no certain beauty but its own peculiarly wondrous ways. The vibrant tints that dance about glimmer; shimmering with the glow of a thousand shades of red, of blue; of yellow, of purple; of indigo and green; of violet and orange; a shade of black, of grey, of white, before melding, swathing together into millions of shades of black, of grey, of white.
Suddenly, as if urgently, you recall the voice once again; you peer about, praying to the Gods’ that perhaps you’ll catch a glimpse of the mysterious being. Another shrill giggle rings in response to this. “Why, the ticking of Death’s clock, of course!” the voice replies, as though such a thing were to be an ordinary occurrence. As if those words were a spell; one to bewitch; one to open one’s eyes; you begin to hear it. A soft, velvety clicking of a gentler still ticking. It quakes your bones; an earthquake; an infectious ailment; slipping through your skin, through muscle, through marrow, through organ, all the way down, to your very core. More teapots join the singular that once stood alone. An army of teapots and cups, cutlery and plates, tables and chairs begin to join it up, up, up in the otherwise still air. And, then, you see it. A bear cub, with glossy coffee fur and beady black eyes, just about the size of a button. The bear, striking you as a chipmunk with its stuffing-filled cheeks, and its circle stomach, and its maw, snapping open and closed, open and closed, with each bite of crumpet, of bread, of cake from atop the oak table it sits at. The oak table tainted by crumbs, by scars and scabs that litter its once polished surface.
Your gaze shifts forcefully, as though some spirit, some creature of ghost were forcing it upon you; you notice the changing of your clothes, the changing from your bare rags to a neat, cloud-puffed dress, with ribbon laces and frilly fabrics of sky, of sea, of waterfall and lake; of cloud, of snow, of pearl and daisy. Rows of bows line your hair as it pulls, and twists, and curls and unfurls till it’s tied up in two neat, lengthy piggies, the tails swaying in a phantom wind, the very same that shifts your dress, that prods at the laces of your thigh highs, sending them into a faint frenzy.
The cub smiles. A gentle, welcoming smile that sends a shiver of warmth from your forehead to your pinkie toes. It gestures for you to come closer; a quaint beckon with the mere flick of its wrist. And, suddenly, you’re there, sat across from that adorably charming bear cub, that reminds you all too much of the plush ted you’ve owned since you were a mere babe. Before you even realize it, you’re sipping from a mug, painted to be white as fragile eggshells; scorching warmth fills your mouth, slipping down your throat as your mind begins to cry out in pain, Hot, hot! Hot, hot! You sputter, before spitting the fiery tea out, out, out, onto the already blighted table top. The cub’s smile curls into a deep scowl, before the corners of its mouth soar back up, contorting into an unnervingly cheery grin. “I’m so sorry! I hadn’t known the tea was so, er, hot,” you apologize, flushing. The bear chuckles, dismissing it with a wave of its paw. “Nonsense! I should have warned you!”
Consternation floods you; something here isn’t quite right. Perhaps it’s the floating teapots and cups; or maybe it’s merely the waves of colors that seem to unnerve with their hypnotic patterns; or, maybe, perhaps, it’s merely the bear that sits across from you scarfing down crumpets, and brownies, and cake, and each and every other pastry that is placed atop the table before it, spewing crumbs with each snappish munch. Abruptly, you don’t feel secure any longer. A chill passes through you; something is not right. Something is not right. You glance about warily, your eyes searching, scanning for any indication, any pointer at danger, at peril. But, as far as the naked eye can see, there is a spindling rainbow of color prancing about, floating teapots and cups, mugs and cutlery, tables and chairs, a bear cub that devours each and every morsel placed within its sights, and you.
You with your frilly, lacy, cloud-puffed dress of sky and sea; of cloud and pearl. You with your glossy piggies, tied up in silky ribbons and balmy pearls, each and every embellishment adorned and studded with rhinestones and pearlescent crystals of many a kind. You with your laced up high thighs, caked in glitter and trimmed with sleek feathers from many a bird. Blue jay’s and robin’s, peacock’s and parrot’s, dove’s and swan’s. That is, until the chair you are sat in jerks to the side, letting you slip from its cushioned seat to fall down, down, down, into the spinning vortex of swaying colors that begin to fade into white’s, and grey’s, before, finally, melding together into nightmarish black’s. And all you can see are your flailing arms, flailing legs, billowing dress, billowing bows and laces and ribbons, swinging piggies, swinging pearls and rhinestones and pearlescent crystals. Until, finally, everything fades into darkness; the dank void, upon its return, envelops you entirely. A blind, deaf girl falling into eternity. Eternity without color; eternity without light; eternity without love, therefore making an eternity without plight.
“Celine!” a familiar voice calls. “Celine! Wake up! We’re going to be late!”
Suddenly, everything shakes. Shakes, and quakes, and utterly breaks upon this violent earth-shattering vibration. The darkness cracks, before shattering, revealing light. Morning light, all too bright for you, you and your midnight eye. That morning light gradually shifts into a gorgeous cyan; a cyan that reveals even further baby-blues, mixed in with creeks and puddles; the smell of chlorine wafts over you, before the darkness fully shatters; a million glass pieces of a once generously adorned mirror, now in splinters.
Water. Water, water, water, rushing in. The waves close in, all around you, pulling you underneath, even as you open your mouth to scream; you kick, and fight, and shriek, but nothing comes out but bubbles and the muffled sounds of a girl wearing a dress that makes her sink, sink, sink.
“Celine! C’mon, sis, get up! Mum’ll have our heads if we’re late!” the voice pleads. It’s all around you now; he’s all around you. The water. The water that reeks of plastic and chlorine and...him. It smells like him. Damien. Your baby brother that you vowed you’d take care of; that you’d always keep safe no matter the cost. And then you see him; and then you’re back in your room, lying in bed, sunlight streaming through the taffy colored lace curtains; and you’re sweet baby brother, Damien, is shaking you violently, begging for you to awaken.
And so you hug him. You sit upright, wrap your arms about him, albeit a tad awkwardly, seeing as how they’re about his neck, about his back, about his head; and you laugh. A happy sound that only he gets to hear because by God, he’s your baby brother, and you love him more than anything. He laughs. He laughs and it’s the most wonderful sound you’ve ever heard. He says, “Are you alright? Why’re you crying?” You shake your head and wipe at your face with your sleeves. “I’m fine. I just had a curious dream, is all.” And then he pulls you from bed and rummages through your closet so that he may help you find your uniform, because, Christ, Celine, you really need to clean your wardrobe out; what even are most of these things? They must be cleaned! I’ll take them down to the wash posthaste! And, oh, dear me, Mum didn’t leave us anything to eat! I’ll make us some breakfast! But, you say, “It’s alright, Damien. I’ll take them down to the wash; I’ll find my uniform; I’ll make us some breakfast.”
Damien shakes his head at you. But he’s smiling. Smiling wider than you’ve ever seen him smile. And it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Because he’s your baby brother. And you vow that you’ll always be there for him. No matter what. Because even if you get married to the richest of men, even if you have twenty children and live in a shack because that man divorced you, even if your life is at stake, you’ll always be there. Because he’s your precious baby brother Damien, who’s broken the very same leg three times and, dear God, does he have troubles with his schoolwork, because you know, you’ve always known that his brain works a tad differently from the rest, but that’s okay, because that only makes you love him even more than you already do.
And so, you get ready for school as Damien ties his laces and grabs his knapsack. But not before having a short, uneventful tea party with your bear. Your plush bear with sleek, coffee fur and beady black eyes the size of buttons. Who, for some peculiar reason, seems to have crumbs seemingly imbedded within its fur. Crumbs from crumpets, crumbs from cake, crumbs from brownies and so many other pastries that it’s impossible to name each and every one.
