Saturday, February 23, 2013

Maybe I'm Just a Dreamer

I made it my goal to try to write at least five hundred words every day for the next year. I did not quite start at the beginning January and I have already missed a couple days, but I am going to keep going and not quit. I would love to share some (not all) of these journal type entries I make. It is actually for a creative writing class I am taking, however, I do it every day whereas the class requires about three entries per week.

So, I was scrolling through my past entries and I thought I would share this one with you. It has been an idea tugging out my mind for quite some time, and I feel it clearly expresses how my brain and imagination work.

Thank you for reading. :)

When I come down the stairs of the library, I always want to stop on the landing and daydream. My mind sweeps me off into a magical land of fairy tales. I imagine I am standing on a grand staircase, looking out across an enchanting ballroom. There is glorious music drifting out of the piano and small band of musicians’ instruments. There is laughter and chatter echoing around the hall.
A sparkling chandelier hangs from the ceiling just above the edge of the last stair step. The crystals dangling from the golden rim shine as the light reflects upon the glass. There are glorious decorations embellishing the room in glitter and gleam. Huge, purple drapes cover part of the frosty windows. Only a peek of the dark night sky with stars looks in upon the warm faces. There are flowers and candles and garland that shine. Tables are decorated with the most exquisite dishware. Glass edges glisten in the low light.
I stand on the landing, one hand resting shyly on the banister. My skin looks pale in the light, fragile even. It is almost as if one move will cause it to shatter. The other hand is curled into a tight fist. The forefinger scratches against the inside of my palm with the rough nail. My fingers itch to tug on the dress that entraps me. It is a gorgeous gown of a deep green color. It flows over me, wrapping me up in a cocoon yet the skirt sails out around the waist, freeing my legs from claustrophobia. My hair, though short, is pulled up and back. Stray tendrils snake down my neck and flick around the edges of my eyes. I do not flick them away. I fear movement.
Below at the foot of the curving staircase, a young man stands. He is tall, dark haired. He looks up at me with a glint in his eyes and a kind smile on his face. He holds out his right hand to me, causing his suit jacket to bunch up at the elbow. He is decked out in a black tuxedo. My eyes linger on the bow tie as his neck. I wonder if there is a pair on suspenders hidden beneath his suit jacket. My eyes move back to his face. His eyes beckon to me, asking the one question I have both feared and longed for all evening. “Shall we dance?”
With a dry throat and a pounding heart, I nod to him. His smile grows slightly, and his eyes widen with delight. A nervous sweat coats the back of my neck, causing the loose hair to stick to my skin. Even so, I take the first step off the landing. The grand room melts away. The music and laughter fade to a dull silence. There is only the sound of pages turning, a stray cough, someone typing on the computer below. The enchanting young man is simply my co-worker standing at the check-out counter.
I stand at the top of the staircase in my jeans and hoodie and sneakers with only shelves full of books and a few scattered chairs below.

-Jaguar Hero!