A Dragon's Ravings

It only costs you some time…

I stared at the little plaques in front of me. I had crossed The floating bridge that was 20 miles long, climbed from the top of said bridge down to snowy waste, cross that wastes, all while carrying my niece Lily. I stood in the lobby holding Lily's hand as she shows the lollipop into her mouth and said the nice woman he passed us on the sidewalk had offered her. These plaques just in front of me

“turn the crank to catch the plane to quickly get you home, it only costs you some time” posted against an Old fashioned victrola, with an arrow to a door on the left. I did not hear any planes, small or large,and there were no windows to look through to see them.

This building we had been guided to had been in the center of a strange block of townhouses, 3 steps with wrought iron handles up to the door. Every facade had matched, except for little signs in their windowed doors. “Memory Retrieval” “Forget It” “Peace” and “ Longing” had been what we passed coming here. “Home” is what it said. I followed the line of people we had been walking after, all the way to this street. There had been a woman and a man in front of us. The woman had paused at the door labeled “Peace” she took the steps up to the door,but just before opening, she had reached into her pocket, and pulled the sealed lolly out, and handed it to me. “For the girl, she has been so patient with the journey” i smiled and said thank you, and we continued down the block. I glanced back as the woman entered, and she had the quietest,mostt content look on her face as she crossed the threshold.

We reached the building labeled “Home”, and followed the man inside. No one followed Lily and I. When the man in front of us had cranked it he smiled like he was hearing an old lullaby or the rendition of his favorite song while Lily and I stared at each other because all we heard was shreiking and moans. It was like the record had absorbed the time it demanded,and played it for whoever turned the crank. I shook my head and looked at Lily, who looked up at me with her big blue eyes, smiling around the stick of her lolly. Her blonde curls were wild, and escaping the bun I had corralled them into.

I looked back at the plaques. The other on confused me more. A simple, old fashioned bell, attached to a well polished wooden base.

“Ring the bell, and catch the trolley 59¢” with an arrow to the right side door. I considered. Could I offer up more of my time to cover Lily? We could get home quickly, but what if we each had to offer our own time. I heard that record, I was not letting her offer up anything she may miss. She is a child, and I love her.

I look back down at Lily, and she is looking towards the left door, with a slightly scared expression. She had made that face before on this journey. It had made me step away from the ski lift we were offered over the bridge. I had told her I didn't like being that high anyway. Which was true, but the bridge terrified me more. I knew at some point, we would no longer see either shore, and open water had always been my biggest phobia. Having grown up in an area that uses ferries daily had been a struggle. Every choice we had been given so far, I guess I had followed Lily's lead. I reached down and picked her up again. I wasn't sure I had the money, but we would figure it out, like we had so far.

“Go ahead and ring the bell darling” I leaned so she could reach. She dinged the bell, and then I did, and we stepped through the door.

We entered a trolley carriage. Outside the windows was pitch black, but the carriage itself was decorated cheerfully, bright colors, floral patterns, a small sitting area was arranged at one end, a tea tray with snacks and a steaming pot. I let Lily down, it felt safe here, safer than even the building we had left. Yes, it had given choices, but really, nothing had rushed us, no one had come in, and we could have just stayed there for a bit. I wanted to get Lily home, back to my brother and his wife, her grandparents, and her older sister.

I look down. How had we been separated anyway? I guess it doesn't matter. We are almost home now. I had found out way.

Lily skipped ahead of me and sat down in a cushy armchair. I perched on the edge of the loveseat, and reached into my pocket. I had thought it empty, but I pulled my hand out, holding 4 quarters, 2 nickles, and 8 pennies. I took half of it and handed it to Lily. As the coins clinked into her little hand, the door at the end of the carriage opened, and a short, round woman with a cloud of white curls bustled in.

I can’t sleep.

The darkness is shrieking,

the silence howling,

and everytime I close my eyes,

I feel like I am dying.

The comfort of my bed is wrong.

It feels like vines and pressure

smothering me

The blankets may be soft and offer

soothing warmth,

but tonight they are oppressive.

The very act of laying down

feels like giving up.

I long to drift off next to my love,

but alas,

I cannot.

I can’t sleep.

Dreams want to welcome me,

but I know that they will sour.

The fluffy sweet clouds of slumber

will soon turn into

raging storms, lightning, thunder, wind,

twisting into a tornado

that will scoop me up and land me far from Oz

The darkest thoughts lie in wait,

as soon as I close my eyes

”How many would it take?”

”What’s the sharpest knife?”

”How long?”

”How long?”

”How long?”

Do I fight my nightly demons?

Or do I give up and wait?

Wait for dawn to break upon me?

Will I rise and dress and pretend they didn’t win?

A fake smile, a little makeup, caffeine supreme?

Or do I acknowledge?

Sure, things could go south,

and I could be lost, discarded, overdue.

but I know who I am.

I am a lover, a reader, a fighter.

I care for those I love, I create, I play, I live.

I am not a borrowed library book,

forgotten, unread, and lost.

I do not have a return date!

I am strong, I will get through anything life throws.

but just for tonight,

I will admit,

though this is not defeat.

I lay on the ground, chest burning, still blinded by the light that had obscured my vision for my entire life, though it was now fading away. The weight of wings missing from my shoulders. My body spasmed, and I choke as air rushes into my lungs. My skull pounds. The aching burn where I had grasped my halo, the mark of God’s grace, and pulled. I pulled until it splintered, cracked and fell. The lies we had been told crashing through my mind, as I could see clearly for the first time. Millenia old, and seeing for the first time.

My body spasmed again. I dragged another breath into my lungs. Angels don't breathe, the sensation is so foreign to me. My eyes tear, everything hurt, another new sensation is forming.

Why had they lied to us?

Why had they lied to ME?

I was good, I was faithful! I had honored our Father at every turn!

Another gasping breath, why have I never heard how oxygen burns?

Tears are dripping down my face with haste. I swipe a hand over them, wondering if they had color, if it was actually blood flowing from my head. I stare at the dampness, vision clearing with every second.

I hear the crunch of gravel, someone is coming. I heave another breath into my angry lungs. I roll, try to get to my hands and knees, whatever, whoever is coming may be a threat. My limbs slide away from me, too weak to get to my knees, let alone my feet. The gravel bites into my bleeding hands. I can see splinters of bone sticking into my fingers. My halo had not broken kindly, it had shattered, leaving shards in my hands. A sob, then another harsh breath. The steps grow closer, panic claws at me. I dig my hands into the gravel, clawing, trying to drag myself away, find shelter, hide until I can pull myself together.

A sound thumps in my ears, faster as the panic grows. bump… bump… bump bump bump bump BUMPBUMPBUMP

What is that? Could it be a heartbeat? Angels dont have heartbeats?!?!?!

Oh, I hadn't considered that…

You push the door open, and a heavy rich perfume fills your senses. It's dim, and you cannot see very far into the shop. You step in, away from the bright sunlight, and let the door close behind you. You look around, blinking a bit as your eyes adjust. You look around, and realize you are surrounded by a riot of textures and colors, textiles piled on every surface, hiding whatever furniture may be under them. You see two paths, snaking away to either kitty corner, faint golden light beckoning you further in. Left, you decide, and drift down that path, trailing your fingertips along the fabrics as you go. You mentally catalogue the sensations as you move, velvet, silk, lace, cashmere… You pause, and take the scarf you just touched between your forefinger and thumb. Its odd, almost slick in sensation, more like the juice of a ripe peach running down your wrist than a fabric. You shift it towards the faint light, admiring the gossamer translucence, then let it slide over the back of your hand to rest amongst its brethren on the table. You turn back to your path. The strange scarf is intriguing, but not what has called you here. The soft sound of wind chimes finds you, as you push a heavy tapestry aside, ducking under as a strange silvery dust falls on you.

The strange perfume is stronger, almost visible on the air currents dancing around you. You look up as warm light hits your face streaming from an open skylight. You see the source of the chimes, hanging around the opening, clinking softly in the slight breeze. You look around the room, and see stacks upon stacks of books. There are narrow pathways weaving around, some normal, person sized, some so narrow you wonder if a sure footed pussycat would be able to traverse them. You catch a slight movement to your right, low. You turn your head sharply, but nothing is there. You huff a laugh. You could have sworn there was a miniscule woman just standing there, scowling at you. You reach over and pick up the book at the top of the stack. You smile as you read the title. “Gulliver’s Travels.” You open it, and there is an inscription in a masculine hand.

“To my darling Arriety,

May the Liliputians

Inspire you to defy

Your limitations, and

Remind you that you

Are capable of great things.

Love,

Papa.”

You smile, running your fingers over the ink, faded to sepia with time. You close the book, and lay it back down where you found it. You wander down a path for a bit, searching for that odd sensation, that tug that guided you to the door of this strange place. You found a copy of your childhood favorite book on your wander. Alice in Wonderland, and you wanted to purchase it. You finally feel the tug again, and follow it, straight to a wardrobe. You reach out a hand, and tentatively grasp the handle. An ethereal giggle sounds in your ear, you jump and instantly back away from the wardrobe, bumping a tall stack of books. It wobbles, and the books start tumbling down around you. You duck, holding Alice and friends up to protect your head. A glancing blow from a large almanac swings the door of the wardrobe open in front of you, and the tower you bumped crashes sideways, taking out the even taller tower next to it. You drop the Alice book and dive for the wardrobe door, shoving the coats away, hoping to escape a possible head injury. You push through the first layer, then a second. The coats are fur, and soft to the touch, and as you push through, looking for the back wall, just to lean against until the books stop falling, the scent of pine and something crisp, almost cold, and earthy fills your nose. The heavy perfume from before has dissipated, and all you can smell is these coats. You can now see a light in the near distance, and the coats, or clothes, or whatever is hanging in here have transitioned to something scratchy, rough, as though you're shoving through pine branches made of wool. You brush aside something, and it feels round, and smooth, like the christmas baubles your Grandmother used to hang on her Yule tree when you were a small child. The ground under you has transitioned from smooth wood to what feels like a plush carpet underfoot. You push past the last branches, and stumble into an open room.

This room looks like every winter holiday you have ever heard of, vomited 30 years worth of decor into this one space. You turn and see that what you had pushed out of seems to be a host of yule and christmas trees, fully decorated, unlit lights, garlands, baubles and all. You cannot make out where exactly you pushed through, as they are packed so tightly, and nearly reach the ceiling. They are so dense that you can’t tell where the wardrobe and those treacherous stacks of books are. There is no door in sight, nor any sort of obvious opening. You spin in a slow circle, trying to figure out where you should go next. The riotous decor is bright, and harsh to your eyes. You feel that now omnipresent tug pull you towards the right. There! Under a table! Two menorahs form a gate, with gift wrapped boxes forming a tight tunnel off into the distance. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound you think. That tug is drawing you forward, towards what you do not know. You kneel, and tug on the makeshift gate, It creaks, much louder than the size would imply. You take a deep breath of the pine and cinnamon air, and crawl into the tunnel.