Fruits of Insanity

a dream of falling

The wind whistled through her hair and flattened her skin against her cheekbones. It caught her skirt with a roar and a snap, as though it had been a sail tacking into a headwind. She rose, lighter than the sun, married to the wind, and she tried to open her eyes, but they were glued shut and she knew. She was dreaming.

In her dreaming, her wings were extended, and she could feel the feather edges catching the wind, playing with it. They ached, for it had been a long flight and she longed to be with her mate in their aerie at the top of the mountain. It had been too long since she saw him. She missed the touch of his strong fingers, combing through her feathers, soothing her aching wings.

But there was an urgency in her dreaming. Around her waist was a message that must get to the queen. She tried to open her eyes to remember the way, but they were sealed shut, and she knew she must fly blind.

The wind picked up and lightning flashed around her. She feared the rain, for it would soak her feather-wings and she would fall. She was too tired, too aching to climb above the storm, but she must. The queen lived in the snow and the heights were most storms passed below.

She climbed. Lightning flashed again, and the thunder blew her backward and downward, and she was falling and she tried to lift her wings to catch her fall, but they failed and instead her skirt billowed like a sail and the ground was nearer and nearer and she was going to crash and she was blind, and . . .

. . . She sat up in bed, screaming. He rolled awake and was looking around for the danger before her eyes even opened. When no immediate threat became apparent, he switched on the light and touched her lightly on the arm.

She opened her eyes and saw the smile on his face. Her breathing calmed and she woke up the rest of the way.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“The dream again?”

She nodded. The scene was already fading, leaving her throat sore and her body dripping sweat and her back aching where she didn’t have wings. “It always seems so real.”

He pulled her onto his lap and sang a wordless song and rubbed her back as she shivered. He was rocking her slightly, as he would a small child. She tucked her head into his chest and felt him breathing, focused on the beat of his heart. This was their room, their bed, their life together. He was her choice.

As she calmed, he stilled his hands and voice and let her sit up on her own. “I need a shower. You should get some sleep.”

“Twice this week,” he said. He didn’t sound like he was accusing her, but she stiffened anyway at the possible implication. “I wish you would tell me about it. Maybe I could help.”

“It’s fine,” she said and switched off the light. She felt his eyes following her into the bathroom. She knew that he knew it wasn’t fine, but she didn’t know what to tell him.

She shut the door and looked at her mirrored self, the same face and body she’d known all her life, and yet she knew she was smaller than she should be. Her body ached with the absence of wings.

Prompt 5
the week of August 30

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