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The Silver Pool
by Lindsay Gill I creep from my bed to the window seat and open the stiff sill. Leaning out precariously, I tiptoe onto the still-warm, dew covered balcony, and settle on the stone rampart. I shut my eyes for a momentarily, then stare into the black velvet sky, studded with the rarest of gleaming diamonds. Night is come, and Fatigue tugs gently at me, but I fight the pull. My reprieve of the darkened Heavens calls me more than my satin bed ever will. I shift in my linen nightshirt. The soft spring Wind is playing games with my hair, blowing it this way and that in her revelries. I straighten my silk robe, and prop my elbow on cold rampart, head on hand. I gaze longingly at the Night sky. Up amongst those shining lights I belong, glittering gaily, catching the attention of all onlookers who also aspire for their home among the Heavenly beings that glisten. I stifle a stubborn yawn, knowing my duty of the moment is to be a' dreaming in my down bed. Yet, the song of my heart cries otherwise, and it is the call that I must obey. I must obey the purpose of my being. As twinklings dance into my eyes, I slowly drift off to sleep.... ....A Dark scene fills my view: a mist is here, shrouding all in Darkness felt, a Darkness palpable. Reaching Trees glide heavily into the heights, as if they themselves regretted the covering inflicted on the dell. I hear a groaning. Is another in my dream? A stranger? Who dare invade my forest? My forest? Why the sudden urge that this is my forest? I hear the moaning again. It is much like that of the Wind soughing through the trees on a Cold dawn, just before the Sun wakes to scare away the goblins of the Night. The sad sigh is coming from all around me, though I see no one. Who then could it be who travels this palled domain with such an eerie howl? The Trees. It could be none but them, though I know not why, nor does my mind give any explanation. I simply know, and that's all. On sudden impulse, I begin to tread a path that leads into some other aspect of this weird forest. The fronds of the Trees bow before me, though the gaps between them grow more veiled from human eyes such as mine. A feeling of foreign dread crosses my heart, but I continue my journey into the unknown depths of this mysterious wood. The world dims before my eyes as the Blackness palpable closes in. I fear I know not what, for my ken of this world is weak, and my power over it is naught. I know this is a dream, and yet it seems so real. I feel the chilly moss beneath my slipper-less feet, and the sighing whisper touching my face with frigid, bitter hands. I begin to beg the question of how much of dream this is, and how much a nightmare. Or is it reality? A rolling wave is suddenly cut like the strike of a dagger through the mist, and I can for the first time see the ground on which I walk. It seems to be made of some crushed precious stone, like that of jade. The Trees bend back to reveal a starless sky. I feel alone. Up ahead, a clearing is shown by the stirring of Trees, motioning, prodding me to it. I gingerly step to, frightful to offend the Trees' wishes. A languid pool of crystal water appears in the middle of the clearing, which I perceive now to be a meadow of heather and asphodel. The dirt beneath me is now warm and delightful, rather than foreboding with wintry chill. A general feeling of peace and wonder fill the air around me, and I am now awake and refreshed. A swirl of something unseen and unheard tugs at me, as if there is something imperceptible in the air to me, and me alone. I listen for the strains of that fleeting something, hoping that with diligence I may interpret what I it is my sixth sense is picking up. I wait, and soon I hear a melody, clearer than any on earth. It is like the pricking harp string: light, indefinable, and piercing. Yet, it has a second, more resonant tone. That second tone is one, it seems, of second thought or motive, a second thought or motive of portent. It resounds sharply in my head of malice, though I understand not why. In this pleasant meadow, what is there to fear? I left fear behind me in that Dark wood. This clearing of colour and pleasing scents had an aura of light. No Darkness exists within the domain of Light! The music seems to come from the area around the pool of water, so I stroll in the Elysium towards the source of this beauty. I see nothing. Wait, the music is coming from the water itself! I creep reverently up to the moist banks of the pool, careful not to disturb the symphony of sound. Water-lilies dot the banks, ready to adorn the tresses of princesses and fairies by their zealous colour. The strains are coming stronger now. I look into the recesses of the crystal mirror before me, but all I can see is my own reflection, and nothing of the contents of the pool itself. It has an elusive murky quality I did not expect of a pool of its integrity. The music once again loudens. I can still see nothing inside the pool, for it is as if it has a coating of translucent silver on its top. The music swells more with each passing moment, but, for some reason, I feel as if I can't really hear it. Yet, it seems so real. A crescendo is reached, and I feel that something must happen. Out in the middle of the pool, a bubbling wave appears, causing concentric circles to go from it. Some form comes towards me, and I suddenly get nervous. Rising gracefully from the Depths, a figure, spectre or angel, I don't know, lifts her head from her home to gaze upon her visitor. She rises more, to shoulder level from that silver mirror, and I can see now her wistful, wondrous features. A mass of wet hair, green and blue, lies plastered to her head, shining like aquamarine. Her eyes are slanted inwards, her face is angular, and her ears are sloped to a delicate point. All together, I have never glimpsed a more awe-inspiring individual, so full of grace, beauty, and, most of all, pride. A sudden grip of loneliness takes me, and I want to cry for my plight. I have no idea what my plight is, but in this world where my dreams are reality, or reality is a dream, I'm not sure of anything. Like a friend who knows you more than you know yourself, this creature, this mermaid, for her scaly-sapphire tail would sometimes crest the water playfully, seems to have noticed my sorrow. Lovingly, she caresses my hand with her webbed fingers, cooing to me in her language, a language that seems sometimes like the screech of dolphins, and sometimes like the crash of waves off a cliff or rock face, but mainly like the gently hiss of the ocean in the changing of the tides. I feel comforted, and my unexpected pain is soothed. Her song has ministered to me, a security in a world of confusion. She continues to stroke my hand, smiling, smiling, smiling. Her smile has something behind it. I again am not aware of the origin of my knowledge, but that she is hiding something is evident a second meaning, a malicious thought, an angry obsession. I try to pull my hand from hers, but with an other-worldly shriek, she grasps hard onto me. I relent. The Wind soughs sadly, mournfully. The mermaid sings again, and this time I can't help but listen with undivided attention. I seem to be able to almost understand the words themselves. I let myself go, and try to imagine what truths and splendors she could be singing about. She is still stroking me, and has moved slowly from just my hand to my forearm also. Her cool skin feels good against mine, and I let her go on patting and singing. With a final scale, she grabs my shoulder in a strength I hadn't imagined, but I cannot move. I am in a trance. She smiles again, and this time I see her teeth are pointed and deadly. With a jerk and managed scream from me, I am pulled helplessly into the Deeps. As of now, I am in eleventh grade and college (dual credits). Though young, my ambition is to become a writer in some capacity or another, whether by it being my mainstay, or just a lucrative hobby. I'm writing three books currently. To contact me, email me at: [email protected] Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |