In black fields the roses grow, between crosses marked in time.
The darkness warped. It roiled like boiling oil, contorting with the shadows of its own flesh. Twisting, convulsing, shifting, it shuddered with the convulsions of wracking sobs; desperate, needing, and hating.
It was pain and it was sadness, grieving for time and for loneliness, burning with anguish that no water could douse and no earth could smother no matter how hard it was pressed. The crying wails of emptiness filled the endless space with the echoes of shattering glass. As if a child had been ripped from its mother's arms, it rang with a piteous sorrow that would impose tears upon the most steadfast of hearts.
Streaks of red slashed the dark, velvety black expanse. Blood seeped through the ashes of a cataclysmic fire and tears streamed from the sky to dot the ground with dark splotches of wet. An unholy baptism was taking place right before her eyes.
There was a brush of feathers against her cheek, soft and gentle. A flash of silver claws preceded white wings that swept through the blackness despite being slowly, steadily swallowed by the dark ink as hope lost within mourning. The sun was a bloody red; death and decay claimed all goodness, giving one last gasp of a prayer as the stars fell to ruin.
Her eyes snapped open, her breath catching hard at the base of her throat in response to the sudden start that had woken her. The pace of her heartbeat was rapid, alarmed, her inhales as sharp and torn as though she had been out jogging – minus the painful stitch in the right side which would have been plaguing her from a run. Yet as she stared up at the ceiling and saw nothing, she closed her eyes again.
She told herself quite firmly that the images that had caused the speed of her frightened heart had only been those of a dream, created by her unconscious mind and nothing more; and certainly nothing to be afraid of. It was merely the dream, the rush of blackness and the weightless sensation of falling that had woken her.
And yet, that was wrong. The jolt hadn't been the initial shock at all.
She rolled over to squint, bleary-eyed, at the neon blue face of the digital alarm clock, where it sat beeping frantically at her t wake up. With a groan of annoyance directed toward the flashing 7:00, she reached out a small hand and slapped the snooze button – silencing the well-meaning ruckus. She was unhappy with the early time, as she always was on the days she opened for the library. But she knew that the quicker she got up and moving, the better she would feel; which was the only reason she could bring herself to shove back the covers, struggle to her feet, and stagger like a zombie to the bathroom.
The shower was part of her routine, a welcomed one that roused her sleepy self from the recesses of dreamland and made her feel less gross. A readying preparation for the day ahead. And yet, as a usual, the hot water was slightly too much of a comfort and left her racing around her bedroom, throwing clothes onto various surfaces as she looked for a pair of clean socks. Selecting a plain white blouse, she pulled a pair of pinstriped slacks over her hips while trying not to fall flat on her face.
Her coffee was a must, the final step to fully waking, and topped off by a bagel from the bread drawer while she shrugged into her jacket and slipped on a pair of shoes – showing quite an amount of balance while she did so.
Lilith knew her car was still in the shop (due to the strange clunking noises it had been making), but that didn't take away her dismay as she gazed mournfully at the empty parking space that should have housed her little '98 Toyota. The car was a trooper, being a senior citizen and temperamental, it lasted, needed little maintenance, and had excellent gas mileage. It was the first time that it had been in the shop for anything serious, so she supposed she should be thankful, but it was just so cold for October.
