I haven't checked on my grammar just yet...I plan to soon....(I have limited time on the computer....-.-) I realize this is really short but I'll have more soon
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Dancing with a Marionette
The corridor was brightly lit with silver and gold lanterns welded upon to the warm tan color of the walls. The hall was tranquil with rich shades of coffee colors. The marble floors were glossy, as expected in such a fine establishment as this one. The light’s illumination shone two very luster reflections which belonged to the only souls in the passage.
Her honey hues peered up into his vividly black eyes. They spoke back in forth in a careless mannerism, though the hall remained silent. Their mouths made the proper motions though no sounds passed either one’s lips. All the same they seem to understand perfectly.
In her mind, no such understanding took place. “I can’t hear what were saying. I feel my face motioning to speak… I can even feel my breath escape my mouth, but it’s soundless. And yet, he nods in agreement. What am I saying? Who is this man? Am I dreaming? I must be.” She thought in a frantic manner, still her body remained calm, as if it were not her own.
He smiled and threw his head back in laughter. Nevertheless, he was not vocal. He regained himself and straightened his glasses. He smiled with dimples caving his delicate cheek. He swept his silky brown tendrils to one side. She noticed he did that often, out of habit, perhaps?
“I know I’m dreaming… He’s beautiful… My body thinks so too, since my heart is racing. Hmm…If only men could always look like you,” Her thoughts were less hysterical now, figuring that she would go with the “dream.”
Though in that instance where her mind finally settled, her body took a turn for the worse. Her hand clutched her chest. It was pounding too fast now…her heart had lost its once steady rhythm. Tears streamed down her face though she remained staring up at the male. He stood there with a smile pulling at the sides of his lips. She saw his eyes flicker slightly as he leaned forward a touched her chin.
“What’s going on…God it hurts so much…my heart’s going to break through my chest. What’s he smiling about…I want to wake up now!”
Her light eyes stared intently, as if never to close. He leaned in closer to her. He smiled like…like some sort of rich chocolate. The smell of sugar was so distinct. The warmth of his body merely an inch from her made her shiver; however it may have been her body simply shutting down.
His cheek caressed hers. It was just as she imagined; smooth. His lips were at her ear now. She felt the heat from his voiceless breath as he whispered something to her. She then felt her knees buckle. Her unyielding eyes shed one last tear before she closed them altogether. She lost sight of the odd man but she felt his arms surround when she collapsed upon him.
“I’m dying…” she thought. Her body curled into his cradling arms. She had one hand remaining at her chest though the other was clutching his silk purple dress shirt.
A sound broke the silence. “You’re eyes are closed…that’s never safe…” It was his voice. The melody of his words echoed down the hall and sprang off every object. It was the only music of the passage. And after the words escaped him…there was yet again a silence so thick you could feel it.
Dark…silent…
“I’m dying…” a reoccurring notion which plagued her. “My eyes…not safe?” She found herself in a battle to wrench them open. It was proving quite difficult, as though they had been cross stitched quite skillfully.
The sight was blurry, though recognizable. As her peepers ever so cautiously opened she saw a classroom; a classroom of which she was quite familiar with. She took a deep yawn and sat up.
“Émilie…See me after class,” Monsieur Belmont said in a provoked tone.
Émilie sighed and rubbed her face, “désolée monsieur…I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“That’s not my problem… After class Émilie…” He went back to teaching.
Émilie glanced around the room. Her tired, groggy eyes peered at her fellow classmates who were briskly taking notes. She watched her professor for a moment. He was rambling on about a play by the great Molière. The class was planning a trip to see one of his plays at the old Bijeux Theatre.
She sat back in her seat, wondering greatly why she had fallen asleep; this was her favorite class after all. It only took one last glare from M. Belmont to get her to pick up her pencil and begin taking notes again. She looked at where she had left off.
Le Malade Imaginaire –Molière… You’re eyes are closed…a dangerous pastime to be sure…I look forward to seeing you again…wake up Émilie…
Her coffee colored eyes grew wide with curiosity… These notes were quite obviously not her own. The penmanship was illuminated like something out of a children’s story from the 1600’s. Being sensible she figured someone was playing a trick on her but, how? This was just too strange, was this trickster some how able to make he dream odd things too. She looked down again noticing a signature had been added to the end of the note.
Bastien Lafayette
“I must be losing it,” she thought, “that wasn’t there a second ago…this is getting ridiculous.”
