Dream ∆ 010
Jack’s eyes were glued on the single ruby rose, the only decoration in the empty room.
He was alone in a severe wooden chair, seated before a small round table. His face was worn and tight. There were no scraps of food in the room, no bed to speak of. The rose glowed in the descending dusk, the centerpiece in the gloom, its petals gently puckering open just for him. His pale hand hovered dangerously close to lightly touching a single, red lip, but each time he came within a hair’s breadth and pulled sharply back.
It was hypnotic. And just when he thought the rose couldn’t get any better, it drifted up before his eyes and spread its wings in full bloom, suspended by the force of its own precocious beauty. A second bud sprouted from the stem, a new bloom well on its way to opening before his pleased, calm gaze.
A ghost of a smile passed in his eyes. His low sigh, a small steaming cloud in the frigid cold, tickled the rose’s outer rim.
The breath was a signal. The flower bent in a ripple under the force of the soft sigh. The new bud drooped. The first petal broke loose and drifted to the tabletop.
It triggered a chain reaction. Jack looked on, eyes contracted in muted horror, as the colorful room, himself, faded into monochromatic grays around the glowing, lone flower. One by one, the ruby red petals withered and crumbled. The thorns on the stalk grew longer, thinner, more malevolent.
The single bud clung on for dear life until the end. It shriveled to no larger than the size of the smallest raisin, a false start that could never flourish into its own bloom.
Only one petal remained, dark, maroon, dwindling by a thread.
Jack lifted his coarse hand, extending a single finger to the last petal. With his approach, the flesh on his hand, his face, his body savagely shriveled and peeled away with a pained cry to reveal cold, stiff steel and plastic. Jack was no longer Jack. His face, part metal, part human, no longer haggard and weary from addiction but from something else he couldn’t describe, held no love, only sadness.
His outstretched hand gently cupped the final petal, his white plastic nail lightly grazing its tip.
It crumbled to dust under the strain.
Raiden, his gaze cold, lips slightly parted, exhaled a sighing, rumbling breath.
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*Raiden awakens, acutely aware of chilly the morning dew on his brow. He exhales, a plume of steaming breath arcing into the dawn.
After a few moments of silence, he abruptly reaches up toward the Dreamberry screen and cuts the transmission.*
((OOC: Next time on 'like a scene from beauty and the beast,' Colonel Campbell as Gaston. Stay tuned.))
He was alone in a severe wooden chair, seated before a small round table. His face was worn and tight. There were no scraps of food in the room, no bed to speak of. The rose glowed in the descending dusk, the centerpiece in the gloom, its petals gently puckering open just for him. His pale hand hovered dangerously close to lightly touching a single, red lip, but each time he came within a hair’s breadth and pulled sharply back.
It was hypnotic. And just when he thought the rose couldn’t get any better, it drifted up before his eyes and spread its wings in full bloom, suspended by the force of its own precocious beauty. A second bud sprouted from the stem, a new bloom well on its way to opening before his pleased, calm gaze.
A ghost of a smile passed in his eyes. His low sigh, a small steaming cloud in the frigid cold, tickled the rose’s outer rim.
The breath was a signal. The flower bent in a ripple under the force of the soft sigh. The new bud drooped. The first petal broke loose and drifted to the tabletop.
It triggered a chain reaction. Jack looked on, eyes contracted in muted horror, as the colorful room, himself, faded into monochromatic grays around the glowing, lone flower. One by one, the ruby red petals withered and crumbled. The thorns on the stalk grew longer, thinner, more malevolent.
The single bud clung on for dear life until the end. It shriveled to no larger than the size of the smallest raisin, a false start that could never flourish into its own bloom.
Only one petal remained, dark, maroon, dwindling by a thread.
Jack lifted his coarse hand, extending a single finger to the last petal. With his approach, the flesh on his hand, his face, his body savagely shriveled and peeled away with a pained cry to reveal cold, stiff steel and plastic. Jack was no longer Jack. His face, part metal, part human, no longer haggard and weary from addiction but from something else he couldn’t describe, held no love, only sadness.
His outstretched hand gently cupped the final petal, his white plastic nail lightly grazing its tip.
It crumbled to dust under the strain.
Raiden, his gaze cold, lips slightly parted, exhaled a sighing, rumbling breath.
--------------------------------------
*Raiden awakens, acutely aware of chilly the morning dew on his brow. He exhales, a plume of steaming breath arcing into the dawn.
After a few moments of silence, he abruptly reaches up toward the Dreamberry screen and cuts the transmission.*
((OOC: Next time on 'like a scene from beauty and the beast,' Colonel Campbell as Gaston. Stay tuned.))