Note to reader:
This blog is a story, written from start… not quite to end yet. If you want to read and actually have some chance of understanding the story line, you have to go right back to the last page, and read from the end backwards. The part here, on this page is the latest instalment, and it might not make much sense without the first bits…
The button for page turning is right at the bottom – don’t worry, there aren’t very many pages!
Happy Browsing.
Georgie
Sometimes it’s easier to escape reality through dreams. This idea seems pretty big at the moment, what with Inception having been released. Although dreams, as in the film, can be trapping, they can suck you in and make you want to stay forever, like reality could never compete with the magic of imagination.
I miss the days of endless dreams, of sitting among the golden barley and blowing the seeds of dandelions into the wind and the sunshine, a wish riding on the breeze. Of lying on picnic benches and making shapes with the clouds, having the power to mold and sculpt them into beautiful patterns and objects with only my mind. Of chattering to the birds and hugs from ancient trees’ branches.
Accompanied by the crickets’ symphony, I danced across the fields this evening. The sun was beginning to set, nestling behind a contemplative collection of clouds which seemed to throb and roll with the sighs of the skies, dipping their tips in the golden rays of evening light. And although I laughed as the breeze stirred up my hair and filled my lungs, something wasn’t quite the same as those free days.
A great sadness and emptiness has washed over me since Ana has left. Although I feel happy and content around my close friends, I feel very lonely away from them. I used to enjoy my own company because it never was my own company. Ana was always there. And we skipped hand in hand with our pretty dresses and compared flowers we picked and caught frogs together. Nothing’s quite the same alone.
I don’t want her back. Her true image is what I see in my mind when I think of her now, rotting, corpselike, paper skin, translucent and flaking, with thick blue veins pulsating against crumbling bones. No beauty in this, no loveliness or romanticism, just death and decay. And that scares me, to think that she was like a goddess, shaping me to be in her image, a prodigy, a daughter.
I find myself retreating again into these dreams. They’re not the same. The sun isn’t as bright, the colours aren’t as vibrant, the water doesn’t sparkle as much and the stars seem tarnished, but it’s better than nothing at all. It’s still better than reality.
So expect many more updates on the story, except in a new world. No longer on the rock in the sea surrounded by ghosts with Ana rotting at my feet. That’s reality. No. Expect escapism. One day I’ll finish the story from the sea, one day the ocean saga will be complete. But I’m not ready to finish that one yet.
The blue light swirled around him, as the ghost turned from a faceless, anonymous entity into the full form of my grandad. He held my hand, and the blue light came to swirl around me too. Ana cowered, afraid. I don’t think she understood this occurence, except she and I both knew that steps like these would be the end of her.
Suddenly time seemed to become wild like the sea. The sun went backwards, going from West to East instead, and so quickly. And the moon changed shape from full and round and silver to a tiny crescent. The stars seemed to dash across the sky, and shooting stars ate up their tails as everything flowed in reverse.
We were back there. Four years ago, in a hospital.
“Are you sure Mr. W?”
My father looked pained. With a sigh he muttered, “Yes.”
The nurse turned off the life support machine, and my grandfather faded away. The light went out, a sigh breathed out his last breath and the line on the heart monitor dropped flat. My grandma and auntie started crying, my dad left the room, mum scurrying after him. The ghost put his hand on my shoulder, warm and comforting, with the blue light dancing around.
Time fluttered again, memories dashed past, grandma’s house and the crying relatives, the funeral, the crematorium, planting a tree, memorial services, scattering ashes, speeches, stories of how great he was… suddenly we were back on the rock. He sat down, and I sat down, cross-legged, facing each other. He ate marshmallows and humbugs, and a hazy background stammered into being around us. The lounge, with the views out of the window across the fields where we walked together. The golf was on the television and the details of the room came rushing back, photographs, memories, accessories. The fire was lit. It was cosy and warm and lovely. And I was seven years old again, and cuddled up to him, staying over there while my parents were away.
He didn’t speak to me. He didn’t need to. He smiled, and I knew it was time for him to go again. I knew what he was trying to show me, but I didn’t want him to leave, not again, not now… not just when I’d found him again. But I couldn’t speak, or stop him, and the blue light turned to white and it lit up the sky and blocked out the hollogram. He put his hand on my shoulder, and then put it to his heart. And before I could say that I understood, or stop the tears, he returned to the ghostly form from before, the light started to dim. His ghost seemed to break apart into thousands of tiny pieces of light, each shaped like butterflies, all different colours. The scattered across the sky like the tiny prisms, fluttering and soaring into the horizon.
A gap was left there in the circle of ghosts, but a blue light linked one ghost to the next, like a fence or a barrier.
I knew what this meant. He was telling me to remember, to feel, to think of him and to believe what happened. He was showing me that he had died and that I couldn’t change that. That blocking out the events of the past four years was an inappropriate and dangerous way to deal with life. He was showing me that he never stopped existing, that death wasn’t the end, that I only had to remember and the hollograms would return, the rooms, the smells, the warmth, the memories. It was all still there, like a place I could visit. All I had to do was hope and believe.
I looked down at the ground where he had been, and noticed that there, on the floor was one of the butterflies. It was small and blue like the light, and opened and closed its wings slowly, soaking up the sun. I picked it up gently. It sat and flapped a while on my hand, before walking up onto my wrist. There, it seemed to melt through, into my skin. A blue light travelled up my veins, clearly visble, brightly shining through my skin. It flowed all the way to my heart where it flashed and then faded.
Always a part of him in me. A part I am duty bound to carry with me in the world. From one generation to the next, he lives on.
We must have spent a very long time on that rock.
Some days, the sun was low, almost dipped in the sea, and the rock was very small. The ghosts were close, and Ana peeped over my shoulder at them, and whispered to me there. Other days, the sun was baking hot, hovering high in the sky, directly above us. On those days the rock was huge, elongated. The ghosts seemed distant, and me and Ana sat at opposite ends, staring at the ocean and the ebb and flow of the tide.
Sometimes, when I looked at Ana, she didn’t look the same anymore. Her skin seemed to flake away, and her skeleton was revealed. Not white, pure bones at all…not like she said…. dirty, ugly bones and she wasn’t half as beautiful anymore. Sometimes I caught a glimpse of a hideous creature, shrunken and rotting and pitiful. And I realised, that Ana had never been lovely at all.
I didn’t believe her words anymore, but I acted upon them nonetheless. It was important for self-preservation. I needed to keep her in my good books – I needed to stop her attacking me while I built up the courage and self-belief, the determination and the strength to attack a ghost.
One day, I walked straight up to one of the ghosts. Ana saw what was coming and clutched at my ankles and pulled my hair and grabben my wrist with her skeleton hands.
“Don’t do it! No, no, no, don’t do it.. it’ll destroy you!” she screeched at me. But I shook her off and proceeded nonetheless. I stopped right in front of one of the ghosts.
“I… um” I stuttered, not really sure what to say to something that had come to be like an inanimate object as they had stood there, guarding, for so long, but silent and motionless. “Well. I want to sort this out. What do I need to do to get rid of you?”
The ghost slowly moved its left hand upwards, taking my hand in its own. Where its fingers touched my skin, a blue colour seemed to seep from me into the ghost, travelling up its arm, and eventually around its whole being. When the colour reached where its eyes ought to be, they opened, a piercing, icy grey colour which then shot through with electric blue. They were beautiful eyes, full of compassion and love. And admiration.
“Well done. I am so proud of you.” the ghost said quietly. In my Grandfather’s voice. “You are ready, and the real journey can begin.”
A rock. Grey, cold, slate. Battered by the ocean and bitten by the wind. Even the limpets don’t cling here. No barnacles. Nothing. Pounding sea, and heartbeats. Salty wind… and breathlessness.
And stood up there, on that rock, arms out, swirling skirts in the air and the spray… at the end of the world, with nothing but icy grey for a thousand and one miles in front of me. That’s where they came.
Laughter gets swept out to sea in that environment. Wavering notes in the atmosphere, drowned in the noise of nature and her fury. But existing as momentary glimpses of something less violent… something more lovely. It was like the cheerful melody of my laughter, and Ana’s too, dragged them out of the ocean.
They were pale, like paper. They were tall, and gaunt. They were like ghosts, and yet skeletons. And the came from all around. Clumsily dragging themselves up the rock face, snagging their… well it couldn’t be described as skin, it was like the fabric of their being. Not flesh, but… like the drapes of their essence, covering their bones like a shroud.
They stood, and swayed, in a circle. Rasping breath. They threw moans to the ocean, and their heavy heads hung low. And Ana and I had stopped by now, and stood, back to back, surrounded by these mysterious creatures. We must have all stopped there for several minutes. The sounds of the sea seemed to dull, and the wind seemed not so bitter anymore. The light seemed to improve, and become purer, and the sea didn’t splash at the rock anymore. Eventually it was too bright, dazzling and blinding. As I held my arm up to protect my eyes, Ana approached one of the figures.
She went to touch it, but her hand seemed stung by some sort of aura. She stared warily at him, wide eyed and afraid. Which is odd, I don’t usually see Ana afraid. She came back to me, and grabbed my arm. Dragged me over to that same figure, and before I could tell her not to, had put my hand on his face. I thought I would get stung, as she did.
“It’s you…” she said.
“I don’t understand, what’s me?”
“Well, you’re the only real one… aren’t you? You’re the only one who can make these ghosts go away. They may not look the same right now, but these are the same ghosts from the forest. And only you can stop them. I’m not real. I can’t make them go away. It’s you. It’s up to you.”
Suddenly, a new voice.
“Oh bravo. Though I must say dear Ana, I am surprised you chose to tell her. Startled you a little did I? You seem to have lost resolve my dear. I never thought I’d hear you give her the key to escaping your scheming little clutches. But there we go, work in mysterious ways, don’t you?” Mr Shadows sounded just as he always did. Eloquent, charming… but not quite enough to make you drop everything for him. His words sweet like treacle, but always taboo. Too much so to pursue.
“So, Miss Wood, what is it to be? If you choose Ana, your ability to touch them will reduce. You will become more and more trapped, and each time, it’ll hurt more to try to escape. Dealing with your demons will become harder and harder, and yet, the rock will become smaller and smaller. Eventually, it’ll all hurt so much, you might just throw yourself off it. Or she’ll snap your neck. Brutal one, is Ana. Mind you, you might do well to choose that path. Because even though you can touch the skeletons, getting rid of them won’t be so painless. It will hurt. A lot. What can I say? It’s up to you.”
The choice might seem obvious. But fear is a desperate and dark force.
It’s a pity.
The rock and the ocean had been so lovely until they’d arrived.
Reality ruins such a lot.
Perhaps we shall escape again.
You learn to fly with Ana, don’t you know. I’ll get my wings. And we’ll fly away.
The darkness comes, creeping and calm… before a storm. Purest sunshine, glowing, blue skies and clean air fade away into distant memories, and the ominous blackness takes over. The air smells of expectancy. And the rain starts to fall. Little shining drops at first, clean and lovely, like the tears of angels… until the clouds swirl and the light is banished. Until they grow larger, darker, heavier. Then they fall like bullets, each one smashing into the ground with threatening force, menacing, hammering beads of water.
It is this state of darkness that allows Ana to encroach. It is this state in which Mr Shadows feels comfortably at home. It is this state in which uncertainty is the order of the day. And uncertainty leads to confusion… confusion to mistakes.
Alone now. Except never fully alone. Alone in that it’s just me now… me and them. The escape from my mind that existed at school has shrunk away, vanished. And now, it is just me and them. Georgie, Ana and Mr Shadows. Only less of Mr Shadows these days – he was strengthened by school and the people there.
Phone off. MSN off. Friends busy. So me and Ana sat on my bedroom floor, face to face, cross-legged. And we made a deal. A lovely little promise. I’m happy with it, she’s happy with it. We’re both happy with it. And the darkness, the uncertainty, it seems to be anticipating the storm.
So we sit here, on the windowsill, with our feet dangling out the window. Rain streaming down, soaking our skirts and socks. And we hold hands and stare at the horizon, in silence. The last remnants of a glowing golden sun sink into the sunset, and we watch them fade. I’m apprehensive – she’s happy. When the light’s out, the mystery returns. The story resumes.
The story will resume.
I spend about two hours every day just walking now. Around and about, and always eventually to the tree with the swing. The portal to another world. Although the portal seems to have shifted.
Today, I went through this archway in the hedge. A hedge archway… and the sun was dappled and hazy. The path was straight and dusty. Flanked by shiny yellow daffodils, I tiptoed along the path, in the strange and smoky air. There was a bend at the end, I couldn’t see round the corner. And a blossoming tree was bowed into the path, providing a pretty pink curtain. And just through the flowers, and through the film in the air… I could see someone there. A girl there. In a pretty white dress, with long pretty hair with a bow in it.
I pulled aside the flower curtain… and she smiled at me, and held out her hand.
“Ana?” I said, confused. She nodded at me. “Wow.. but you look so different… “
“Don’t worry. Just come with me. I have something to show you.” She replied, quietly.
So I held her hand and we walked towards the tree. Our tree. When we were closer, she tugged free from my grip and ran up to the swing. She swang there, high into the air, higher than ought to even be possible. The rope seemed to stretch out to allow her to go higher, and then shrink before she plummeted towards the ground.
“You’d be able to fly like me too, go this high too… touch the clouds too if you didn’t eat so much!” She shouted down from the top, laughing.
All of the sudden, she’d stopped swinging, and was right in front of me, a deadly serious look on her face. She stared at me, intently, angrily… greedily. We held that stare, I wasn’t going to back down.. until we were interrupted… by a single white feather, which fell into the tiny gap between our faces, down, down, down to the grass. Ana took a step back.
I bent down, and picked up the feather. I looked at it, curiously for an eternity… and she looked at me and the feather with… fear.
Another feather then dropped from the sky. Two white feathers. Soon, another followed. And another, and another. Soon, it looked like it was snowing because the clouds were just disintegrating, falling apart into floaty white feathers which waltzed with the breeze and then settled on the ground.
And I smiled, and I held out my arms and I span around and danced and skipped in the white feathers. A million and one feathers from the wings of a million and one guardian angels. Ana scowled and screamed and yelled and stamped her feet, and tried to get me to stop… the feathers to stop.
But the feathers are little signs of love, from the angels who watch over me, the people who I loved and cherished but who have gone. And also the people who are my living, breathing guardian angels. They reminded me of you. And as I picked up some of the feathers, I could see written along their little spines one lovely thing someone had said about me. And there were lots of feathers, and lots of lovely things.
And Ana hated it.
