The Girl From The Wardrobe

Chapter Eleven

XI.

Sat. 20th Dec 2014

San Diego, California

×.

It was windy outside; she knew it by the spiraling waft of breeze swirling into her room by her open window glasses. It tickled her skin, riddling a sheer shiver through her crusts.

The limpid, white curtains were blown gently by the swinging wind.

Felisa trotted to the windows, and affixed it closed. There was an abrupt, swift existent that pricked into her heartstrings, but she tried to overlook it. She wanted to defy the fear in its goal of prevailing over her.

"The windows are just closed. There's nothing to be scared about, Felisa." she told, daring herself against the pitch of discomposure.

Felisa padded off to get her grey boots from the glass cases, adjoined across the wall of her bedroom. She took it, and slipped her toes onto it. Then, she shuffled toward her closet. She hoicked out a white cardigan, and wore it over her sleeveless, floral-patterned blouse.

Black butterflies.

She unanticipatedly retained the thought of her dream about being girdled with a multitude of fluorescing, black butterflies.

"Why was I dreaming such weird things like that?" she grumbled, choking up with all of those perplexities.

A few days ago, she'd had a tragic, grievous dream about a young girl hustling toward her. Then recently, last night, she'd queerly had the exact kind of dream again. And worse, it was gravely crumbled into something like she was about to meet her curtains too – that she was going to be slayed by that despicable man, the same man who slayed the young girl.

She tried to recollect the pictures of the dream in her mind. The man was long-limbed, brawny and towering. Moreover, as well, he was precarious, treacherous, and menacing. She hadn't seen his visage, it was all obscure and dark. However, she knew that he was smirking at her like proposing a sweet piece of great divide. She quivered trembly at the notion.

Was he people called deathsman? Am I just going to die? She unknowingly thought.

What if her dreams were precognitions about her approaching death? What if she was going to die? And that she would die the very next day, or tomorrow, or maybe today, later, or... now?

"What's happening to me? I shouldn't be thinking like this," she grumped confusedly.

She compressed her head by her two hands – nearly crushing, and shaking it to flung herself away from an overdose of paranoia.

××.

"If we're going to die, then we're going to die. We're all going there," Jasmine said to Felisa, trying to ditch her phantasm about vital quietus.

Felisa called her. Jasmine was the only one who could contemplate her when it came into things as stupid as this. Yeah, stupid – that was just how her friend described it. Stupid.

Felisa listened keenly to her divine catchphrases, and reacted no word for minutes. Jasmine never liked to get interrupted when talking, so she didn't do. Withal, she was rumbling as a switch into her nodding which couldn't be seen via call.

"Life sucks, remember? We're born to die, and we need to accept that fact. Besides, you won't be going to die very soon. Isa, you're just nineteen! Don't give a damned shit to it," Jasmine growled vigorously, and paused for half a minute which circularly meant that she was waiting for Felisa to say something.