Squirrel B4, Tuesday morning, early
May. 23rd, 2006 10:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nadiathesaintNadia hadn't dreamed since Alfred gave her the dreamcatcher. But even a well made dreamcatcher couldn't get everything. Some dreams were too small and slipped through the net. Some it just wasn't strong enough to stop.
It was a school, but it was also a warzone, something which Nadia really felt she shouldn’t have been so familiar with as she walked slowly down the hallways, stepping over the children who lay injured, dying, or dead along the way. She felt she knew each one of them as she passed, but her body was numb and she didn’t stop for them or cry for them. She just kept walking.
Up ahead, she could hear talking, laughter, about how this would trap “those mercenaries” for sure. Every now and then, interspersed with their laughter, a small boy’s voice could be heard, whimpering or screaming.
Her pace quickened.
There was a faint sound of wind, though the air in the school building was stifling, heavy and still, and then there was someone walking silently beside her. Nadia turned her head.
Nadia looked back and smiled sadly.
Okay, that was new. Nadia looked Nadia over, noting that she was older and paler than she was, that her hair was longer, and that she looked . . . tired. Like she just finished some long trial and was satisfied not so much with the outcome, but with the fact that it was over.
“Who are you?”
Nadia shook her head. “You know better than that.”
“This isn’t how it goes.”
“It is, this time.” Nadia tilted her head in the direction of the voices and the screams. “Aren’t you going to look?”
“No. I don’t want to. I don’t want to know what’s happening.”
“I’m sorry.”
Nadia turned to Nadia, confused. “What?”
“I never saw these.” Nadia gestured to one of the children, one with multiple bullet wounds across his body. One on each side of his chest, three in the stomach, one perfectly centered in the middle of his forehead. The child’s face stared back, blank, but for the faintest hint of a smile, like he knew something Nadia did not. “I only saw the city, the ball, Sydney, the gun. Over and over.” She smiled at her. “So I’m sorry.”
Nadia stared back. “No. I don’t know who you are, but leave me alone.” She turned to storm down the hall in the opposite direction from the voices but they were coming from everywhere, and with that same breezy *whoosh* she was standing in a classroom.
A ten year old boy was being held on the floor. His body was already bruised and a little twisted, but he struggled against the grip of the men above him. One of the men grabbed the side of the boy’s face, one finger on his left eyebrow, one thumb on his left cheekbone. He leered down at the child.
“We’ll need a digging tool, like a spoon or something.”
One of the others was sorting through the teacher’s desk. “I’ve got a spork,”
“What’s a spork?”
“A sort of half-spoon, half-fork,”
The man leering at the boy held out his hand. “Now, gotta do this carefully, don’t I boy. Want to be able to send it back to your family.” He pried the boy’s left eye open and brought the spork down.
The boy’s scream ripped the room in half.
Nadia spun, breathing hard through her mouth. “No. I don’t want to see this. I don’t need to know this.”
The other Nadia crossed her arms, stretching her head up to get a better look. The side of her neck was bleeding from a deep, jagged wound, but Nadia was smiling. “They have an excellent technique. You could learn from them.”
Nadia stared at her older self, swallowing hard as bile rose in her throat.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, we hate him, remember?”
Nadia closed her eyes, swallowing three more times. “No.”
“You don’t remember? Well, that’s fair enough, you were both acting like . . . what is that word I used to use? Cutre.”
No. Nononononono. . . .
Behind her, the screaming stopped. The odd, wet sounds of the spork and the occasional chuckle of the men did not.
The other Nadia slouched. “Well. That show’s over.”
Nadia swallowed, finding her voice again. “How did you get so heartless?”
The other Nadia looked at her, her expression suddenly sad. She reached up a hand and touched her neck. “Heart’s not gone. Just stopped working.” She tilted her head. “You should probably wake up soon. You’ve got stuff to do before your workshops today.” She reached out her hand, fingertips bloodied, to caress Nadia’s cheek--
Nadia’s eyes flew open and she brought both arms up to block her face . . . and nearly brained herself on her own cast. She searched the alcove frantically for a moment, before remembering where she was and slowly lowering her arms. She rolled onto her side.
The dreamcatcher was broken.
Damn.
She was going to have to talk to Pip.
It was a school, but it was also a warzone, something which Nadia really felt she shouldn’t have been so familiar with as she walked slowly down the hallways, stepping over the children who lay injured, dying, or dead along the way. She felt she knew each one of them as she passed, but her body was numb and she didn’t stop for them or cry for them. She just kept walking.
Up ahead, she could hear talking, laughter, about how this would trap “those mercenaries” for sure. Every now and then, interspersed with their laughter, a small boy’s voice could be heard, whimpering or screaming.
Her pace quickened.
There was a faint sound of wind, though the air in the school building was stifling, heavy and still, and then there was someone walking silently beside her. Nadia turned her head.
Nadia looked back and smiled sadly.
Okay, that was new. Nadia looked Nadia over, noting that she was older and paler than she was, that her hair was longer, and that she looked . . . tired. Like she just finished some long trial and was satisfied not so much with the outcome, but with the fact that it was over.
“Who are you?”
Nadia shook her head. “You know better than that.”
“This isn’t how it goes.”
“It is, this time.” Nadia tilted her head in the direction of the voices and the screams. “Aren’t you going to look?”
“No. I don’t want to. I don’t want to know what’s happening.”
“I’m sorry.”
Nadia turned to Nadia, confused. “What?”
“I never saw these.” Nadia gestured to one of the children, one with multiple bullet wounds across his body. One on each side of his chest, three in the stomach, one perfectly centered in the middle of his forehead. The child’s face stared back, blank, but for the faintest hint of a smile, like he knew something Nadia did not. “I only saw the city, the ball, Sydney, the gun. Over and over.” She smiled at her. “So I’m sorry.”
Nadia stared back. “No. I don’t know who you are, but leave me alone.” She turned to storm down the hall in the opposite direction from the voices but they were coming from everywhere, and with that same breezy *whoosh* she was standing in a classroom.
A ten year old boy was being held on the floor. His body was already bruised and a little twisted, but he struggled against the grip of the men above him. One of the men grabbed the side of the boy’s face, one finger on his left eyebrow, one thumb on his left cheekbone. He leered down at the child.
“We’ll need a digging tool, like a spoon or something.”
One of the others was sorting through the teacher’s desk. “I’ve got a spork,”
“What’s a spork?”
“A sort of half-spoon, half-fork,”
The man leering at the boy held out his hand. “Now, gotta do this carefully, don’t I boy. Want to be able to send it back to your family.” He pried the boy’s left eye open and brought the spork down.
The boy’s scream ripped the room in half.
Nadia spun, breathing hard through her mouth. “No. I don’t want to see this. I don’t need to know this.”
The other Nadia crossed her arms, stretching her head up to get a better look. The side of her neck was bleeding from a deep, jagged wound, but Nadia was smiling. “They have an excellent technique. You could learn from them.”
Nadia stared at her older self, swallowing hard as bile rose in her throat.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, we hate him, remember?”
Nadia closed her eyes, swallowing three more times. “No.”
“You don’t remember? Well, that’s fair enough, you were both acting like . . . what is that word I used to use? Cutre.”
No. Nononononono. . . .
Behind her, the screaming stopped. The odd, wet sounds of the spork and the occasional chuckle of the men did not.
The other Nadia slouched. “Well. That show’s over.”
Nadia swallowed, finding her voice again. “How did you get so heartless?”
The other Nadia looked at her, her expression suddenly sad. She reached up a hand and touched her neck. “Heart’s not gone. Just stopped working.” She tilted her head. “You should probably wake up soon. You’ve got stuff to do before your workshops today.” She reached out her hand, fingertips bloodied, to caress Nadia’s cheek--
Nadia’s eyes flew open and she brought both arms up to block her face . . . and nearly brained herself on her own cast. She searched the alcove frantically for a moment, before remembering where she was and slowly lowering her arms. She rolled onto her side.
The dreamcatcher was broken.
Damn.
She was going to have to talk to Pip.
