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31_days2012-07-15 08:25 pm
noir-au-blanc.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-07-15 08:25 pm
15 July - Original - Doorways.
Title: Doorways.
Day/Theme: July 15 – “Witnessed by no Waking Eye”
Rating: PG
Summary: Variations of the Minds Eye.
When she slept, the worlds came awake.
Deep in the dusty hallways the shadows moved between the beams merging into the line of the walls easily, fluid motion in context. There’s a lingering knowledge somewhere within her cortex that over here, she could hold her breath till she'd pass out and disappear again -- never to leave a trace, deep into hollows always to reappear a particle fallen away.
Its not so much broken as its being real.
When she dreamed, deep in slumber.
The spinners webs sparkled with crystals, and the grey mists swirled and merged under the cracks of doorways of topaz, obsidian and blood, and through them she saw that the grass was no longer the greens of her childhood – but purple of various hues and shades as far as the eyes could see, and the skies were the deepest uterine pink-red.
On this side of the door, things were lovelier, brighter and more vibrant, there was no picking of moss from trees, that subtle green that climbs upwards or the dirt and weeds underneath hidden in the shadows.
She realised, over here.
She no longer sat there in a state of frozen solitude.
Day/Theme: July 15 – “Witnessed by no Waking Eye”
Rating: PG
Summary: Variations of the Minds Eye.
When she slept, the worlds came awake.
Deep in the dusty hallways the shadows moved between the beams merging into the line of the walls easily, fluid motion in context. There’s a lingering knowledge somewhere within her cortex that over here, she could hold her breath till she'd pass out and disappear again -- never to leave a trace, deep into hollows always to reappear a particle fallen away.
Its not so much broken as its being real.
When she dreamed, deep in slumber.
The spinners webs sparkled with crystals, and the grey mists swirled and merged under the cracks of doorways of topaz, obsidian and blood, and through them she saw that the grass was no longer the greens of her childhood – but purple of various hues and shades as far as the eyes could see, and the skies were the deepest uterine pink-red.
On this side of the door, things were lovelier, brighter and more vibrant, there was no picking of moss from trees, that subtle green that climbs upwards or the dirt and weeds underneath hidden in the shadows.
She realised, over here.
She no longer sat there in a state of frozen solitude.