A Distant Dream (70X/56B)
Jan 22, 2020 4:38:44 GMT
Post by Ophelia on Jan 22, 2020 4:38:44 GMT
A semi-experimental piece, I did in the second-person perspective of one of Bass' characters, with his permission.
The prompt in question is "We Remember," and I'd like bits for this, please.
A dream.
It started with a dream, one night; safe in your bed, away from the worries of the Digital World, if only for the time being.
Though the dream itself, was... Strange. Familiar, yet unfamiliar, all the same; a feeling of deja vu seemed to pervade the dream, and every step or motion felt as though one were floating.
Floating as much as the island that you stood upon was, in fact. A soft and golden light seemed to almost hang in the air about you; perpetual sun rays, from seemingly nowhere, that bathed the world in an equally warm gold. An old and worn stone brick pathway led ahead, to an equally aged yet well-loved house; the path ahead framed by the boughs of flowering trees, whose petals of pastel pinks, yellows, and whites danced downwards. Wildflowers of vivid colors, too, would dot the golden grass that stretched about where the path did not, and an old rose bush would be growing just outside the house; to the side of the doorway.
Though it initially felt as though you were walking in the vacuums of space itself, each step forward became easier than the last; following that stone trail, up to the door's front. Each step forward would not make a sound, yet it felt lighter, soothing, right - an uncertain yet comforting feeling from a place yet unknown welling up as the house drew near. To describe that feeling in simple words was difficult, for the time being, but...
... As you reached the door, the feeling could be compared to the smell of a mother's cooking, after being away from home for so long.
The feeling could be compared to singing along with a song you had once forgotten.
The feeling could be compared to finding an old, sentimental stuffed animal or safety blanket.
You could almost swear, in fact, that you could hear the sounds of children playing. A motion out of the corner of your eye would draw your attention to the left; and in glancing to a clearing beyond the flowered trees, you could see a glimpse of a Patamon and a Hackmon, playing just past the gaps in the trunks.
Yet, just as quickly as they seemingly appeared, they would disappear behind the trees - and just as soon as they disappeared, so too would the sound. A sense of longing that is not your own would briefly well up; yet... Any attempts to glance about the trees, would not reveal any signs of the two Rookies.
Not even the petals scattered across the ground had been disturbed by them - as though they were never here at all.
For a moment, you remained in quiet contemplation, before returning to the path in front of the house - returning to the door - and pushing your way in.
Much like before, that strange yet comforting feeling - the feeling of finding something that was beloved yet lost or forgotten - would return. This place, you - not the you that was you, but another part of you - knew this place. This was safety. This was respite.
This was home.
The living room was small and humble - much like the house itself - but it was cozy. A single couch sat before a simple coffee table, a cup of tea still sitting there; steaming, freshly brewed. An old radio played a song that you couldn't quite speak the words to - almost as though there were a disconnect between your brain and your voice - yet were able to tap the rhythm to on your leg, despite having never heard it until now.
There were things that you remembered, despite never knowing them in the first place.
Photos and paintings, in varying degrees of age, hung from the walls. The older ones - such as one of that same Hackmon and Patamon - were easy to discern, and make out. Yet, the newer ones were strange and indistinct; colors swirling together, faces seeming not entirely there... There was only so far back, you could remember; there was only so much you knew.
The sound of cooking - of things sizzling, things clicking and clacking together, of a running sink - from an adjacent room would draw your attention, however. As you made for the open doorway, there would be a smell of a dish you couldn't name - yet it still made your stomach rumble all the same. You enjoyed making this for yourself, on lonely evenings, didn't you?
Indeed, as you would expect, there was someone in the kitchen; stirring a pot. You were there, in fact; facing away, yet that long black hair was yours, wasn't it?
Or were you mistaken? In stepping in - when your footsteps suddenly would make a sound, a light clack against the linoleum floor that sounded louder than it should be - the other You(?) would start, glance over her shoulder back at you, as you blinked, and...
... No, no, she didn't have black hair, at a second glance - this was a different woman. Taller, looking to be an adult, with long silver-lavender hair and blue eyes... Though she didn't look to be all that old, her eyes were filled with a certain age, a certain wisdom, a certain...
... Another blink. She wasn't a human, was she? No; she was a tall humanoid dragon of some sort, likely a digimon. She resembled a Hackmon, with the primarily white coloration; though she had golds, the reds of her tattered cloak, bladelike limbs, and...
... And she was completely white, from head-to-toe; a cloak of feathers, that almost looked like a pair of wings, billowing from behind her.
It was disorienting, the changes that were yet weren't there. Yet, the gaze that you felt was warm. Patient. Familiar. It was unlike the usual cold, blank, unfeeling gaze of the Bleached Digimon; and it made you feel... Safe, almost.
You felt, almost, as though you were gazing at yourself. As if this were a mirror; and certainly, reflections could not hurt you, even if she had turned out to not be quite so serene.
The tall dragon would slowly, step by step, approach you. You could only barely register that you were no longer in a kitchen, but were instead outside; an open field of golden grass and colorful wildflowers, ringed by flowery trees of pastel and rosebushes.
No, instead, you could only continue to peer up to the dragon as she'd kneel down to your level; even as things began to feel less There, less Real.
Once both you and her were level, peering into eachothers' faces, you would notice the movement of her mouth; the fact that she was speaking. Despite her being so close, though... Her voice felt so far away, so distant, so quiet.
Yet, even with her voice being unable to reach your ears, you knew what she was saying.
"Find me, little one. This is my home, as much as it is yours now."
The foliage about you would begin to break away, into bits and bytes; fluttering colors of gold, of pastel, of vivid, about you as they faded into nothing.
"Take however long you must; your journey is a heavy one, and you mustn't hurt yourself, child..."
Even the ground, eventually, would disappear. When nothing was left to support your feet, you would descend; yet it did not feel as if you were falling, even as you saw the dragon above - floating in place, despite having no ground to stand on - grow further and further away.
"... But please, look for me; won't you?"
Finally, so too would the sky and the dragon herself disappear; leaving yourself in the inky black void of the nothing, as her voice faded with it all.
Even in the falling, though, you couldn't help but not be scared. This was a dream, after all; and dreams eventually had to end.
The line between dream and reality would blur slightly, though; as you woke up to a dark room.
Day had not yet risen, and checking the time would read to be half past three.
The memory of a house, with an aged rosebush and an orchard - all on a distant floating island - lingered.
The memory of a young woman, with wise blue eyes, lingered.
The memory of a dragon's voice, calling for you to find them, lingered.
They lingered, even as you turned over in your bed; attempting to find sleep a second time, yet finding yourself restless.
There was still one last spirit to find, you knew; and she has been waiting for the time to come, that you would both meet.
All that was left now...
… Was to find her.
The prompt in question is "We Remember," and I'd like bits for this, please.
A dream.
It started with a dream, one night; safe in your bed, away from the worries of the Digital World, if only for the time being.
Though the dream itself, was... Strange. Familiar, yet unfamiliar, all the same; a feeling of deja vu seemed to pervade the dream, and every step or motion felt as though one were floating.
Floating as much as the island that you stood upon was, in fact. A soft and golden light seemed to almost hang in the air about you; perpetual sun rays, from seemingly nowhere, that bathed the world in an equally warm gold. An old and worn stone brick pathway led ahead, to an equally aged yet well-loved house; the path ahead framed by the boughs of flowering trees, whose petals of pastel pinks, yellows, and whites danced downwards. Wildflowers of vivid colors, too, would dot the golden grass that stretched about where the path did not, and an old rose bush would be growing just outside the house; to the side of the doorway.
Though it initially felt as though you were walking in the vacuums of space itself, each step forward became easier than the last; following that stone trail, up to the door's front. Each step forward would not make a sound, yet it felt lighter, soothing, right - an uncertain yet comforting feeling from a place yet unknown welling up as the house drew near. To describe that feeling in simple words was difficult, for the time being, but...
... As you reached the door, the feeling could be compared to the smell of a mother's cooking, after being away from home for so long.
The feeling could be compared to singing along with a song you had once forgotten.
The feeling could be compared to finding an old, sentimental stuffed animal or safety blanket.
You could almost swear, in fact, that you could hear the sounds of children playing. A motion out of the corner of your eye would draw your attention to the left; and in glancing to a clearing beyond the flowered trees, you could see a glimpse of a Patamon and a Hackmon, playing just past the gaps in the trunks.
Yet, just as quickly as they seemingly appeared, they would disappear behind the trees - and just as soon as they disappeared, so too would the sound. A sense of longing that is not your own would briefly well up; yet... Any attempts to glance about the trees, would not reveal any signs of the two Rookies.
Not even the petals scattered across the ground had been disturbed by them - as though they were never here at all.
For a moment, you remained in quiet contemplation, before returning to the path in front of the house - returning to the door - and pushing your way in.
Much like before, that strange yet comforting feeling - the feeling of finding something that was beloved yet lost or forgotten - would return. This place, you - not the you that was you, but another part of you - knew this place. This was safety. This was respite.
This was home.
The living room was small and humble - much like the house itself - but it was cozy. A single couch sat before a simple coffee table, a cup of tea still sitting there; steaming, freshly brewed. An old radio played a song that you couldn't quite speak the words to - almost as though there were a disconnect between your brain and your voice - yet were able to tap the rhythm to on your leg, despite having never heard it until now.
There were things that you remembered, despite never knowing them in the first place.
Photos and paintings, in varying degrees of age, hung from the walls. The older ones - such as one of that same Hackmon and Patamon - were easy to discern, and make out. Yet, the newer ones were strange and indistinct; colors swirling together, faces seeming not entirely there... There was only so far back, you could remember; there was only so much you knew.
The sound of cooking - of things sizzling, things clicking and clacking together, of a running sink - from an adjacent room would draw your attention, however. As you made for the open doorway, there would be a smell of a dish you couldn't name - yet it still made your stomach rumble all the same. You enjoyed making this for yourself, on lonely evenings, didn't you?
Indeed, as you would expect, there was someone in the kitchen; stirring a pot. You were there, in fact; facing away, yet that long black hair was yours, wasn't it?
Or were you mistaken? In stepping in - when your footsteps suddenly would make a sound, a light clack against the linoleum floor that sounded louder than it should be - the other You(?) would start, glance over her shoulder back at you, as you blinked, and...
... No, no, she didn't have black hair, at a second glance - this was a different woman. Taller, looking to be an adult, with long silver-lavender hair and blue eyes... Though she didn't look to be all that old, her eyes were filled with a certain age, a certain wisdom, a certain...
... Another blink. She wasn't a human, was she? No; she was a tall humanoid dragon of some sort, likely a digimon. She resembled a Hackmon, with the primarily white coloration; though she had golds, the reds of her tattered cloak, bladelike limbs, and...
... And she was completely white, from head-to-toe; a cloak of feathers, that almost looked like a pair of wings, billowing from behind her.
It was disorienting, the changes that were yet weren't there. Yet, the gaze that you felt was warm. Patient. Familiar. It was unlike the usual cold, blank, unfeeling gaze of the Bleached Digimon; and it made you feel... Safe, almost.
You felt, almost, as though you were gazing at yourself. As if this were a mirror; and certainly, reflections could not hurt you, even if she had turned out to not be quite so serene.
The tall dragon would slowly, step by step, approach you. You could only barely register that you were no longer in a kitchen, but were instead outside; an open field of golden grass and colorful wildflowers, ringed by flowery trees of pastel and rosebushes.
No, instead, you could only continue to peer up to the dragon as she'd kneel down to your level; even as things began to feel less There, less Real.
Once both you and her were level, peering into eachothers' faces, you would notice the movement of her mouth; the fact that she was speaking. Despite her being so close, though... Her voice felt so far away, so distant, so quiet.
Yet, even with her voice being unable to reach your ears, you knew what she was saying.
"Find me, little one. This is my home, as much as it is yours now."
The foliage about you would begin to break away, into bits and bytes; fluttering colors of gold, of pastel, of vivid, about you as they faded into nothing.
"Take however long you must; your journey is a heavy one, and you mustn't hurt yourself, child..."
Even the ground, eventually, would disappear. When nothing was left to support your feet, you would descend; yet it did not feel as if you were falling, even as you saw the dragon above - floating in place, despite having no ground to stand on - grow further and further away.
"... But please, look for me; won't you?"
Finally, so too would the sky and the dragon herself disappear; leaving yourself in the inky black void of the nothing, as her voice faded with it all.
Even in the falling, though, you couldn't help but not be scared. This was a dream, after all; and dreams eventually had to end.
The line between dream and reality would blur slightly, though; as you woke up to a dark room.
Day had not yet risen, and checking the time would read to be half past three.
The memory of a house, with an aged rosebush and an orchard - all on a distant floating island - lingered.
The memory of a young woman, with wise blue eyes, lingered.
The memory of a dragon's voice, calling for you to find them, lingered.
They lingered, even as you turned over in your bed; attempting to find sleep a second time, yet finding yourself restless.
There was still one last spirit to find, you knew; and she has been waiting for the time to come, that you would both meet.
All that was left now...
… Was to find her.
