Fantasy

• Emma Liu, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2021

A wail coated in bittersweet anguish spills through the room.

The sound tastes of pungent sugars, piercing needles of honey that tinge and rattle tastebuds.

One may think the source of the noise was from a sufferer of terrible agonies, the distorted call of a wild creature. But instead of perhaps a human or beast or somewhat logical explanation for the scream, there, collapsed in the middle of the wooden floorboards, lies a still figure with shadowy objects sprouted from its back.

Its body is speckled with the deepest shades of red, as if the planets of dust and dirt had descended from the heavens and found their way onto skin. So when the figure shifts, its complexion contrasts greatly with beautifully pure, snow-like wings, occasionally twitching weakly on its back.

The dreamer blinks once, twice. Slowly, sleepily. Her eyelashes flutter, as if torn between closing and opening. Can you pretend what you see is a dream, a hallucination, a nightmare only the cruellest imagination could conjure? The terror has not completely captured her heart yet; numbness and a slothful mind rules her body with this sudden wakening. Yet she feels this trepidation gradually inching towards the centre of her chest with every second that passes. Soon, she will be delirious on adrenaline and fear.

Panic claims a place in her heart, a twisting, gnarled hand.

Ripples of shock waver through her body rigorously. A bombshell dropped in the ocean.

A whole river is suddenly swimming on her cheeks, lush droplets overflowing in abundance. Her pitiful image of an angel – clothed in scraps of white fabric, cheap golden tinsel tossed upon a head, comically perched upon a Christmas tree - cannot possibly compare to the terrifying reality in front of her.

The same wail of clashing dissonance escapes the angel's mouth - a prolonged, desperate cry. It is beyond enough to cause the slumbering birds to shudder in their sleep, far beyond enough to snap the strings of a violin. Goosebumps shiver on her arms, and she is suddenly so dizzy… too queasy…

Suddenly, timid sunlight is creeping into the corners of her room.

Eyelashes twitch, a gesture of innocence and exhaustion. Eyebrows furrow, confusion and turmoil all rumbling silently within. She removes one foot from under the covers and places it lightly on the wooden floor. Cold. Bare. Spotless.

She hums as she continues on her with her daily routine. It is a haunting song about angels and demons, tuned sweet by her voice.

Smiling cheerfully, obliviously, she throws on a light jacket and disappears out the door into reality. The house holds its breath… a pause... before a single white feather, unusually large and wisping with blood at the corners, is triggered by the winds of her swift movements. It spins and lands at the centre of the room mockingly.

Irrationality finds dreamers all over the world.