Memories (Of Dreams and Demons)

Wings of Paper

Everything started with a promise.

I'm young, quiet, trying not to fidget by my lonesome self in a public library. Here, tall arches proudly support an enormous main reading room, filled with column after column of books of every age and size. High sliding ladders, seemingly rarely used and hooked into dusty rails, give visitors easy access to the higher rows of books. A dim, natural lighting gives everything an almost mystical hue, pleasant on the eyes, allowing for comfortable reading

Along the edges of each row of books rests antique tables from a dozen different cultures and times, all different in their own exotic way. Upon them sit fine bone carvings or stone statues resting securely behind thick glass barriers. On display are every type of creature, some real, some not so real, from owls and tigers to dragons and what seems exotic mishmashes of multiple creatures that surely have no name in any language.

Within it all I sit and wait, wrinkling my nose in delight a little, enjoying that unique smell of both new and old paper. The hour is getting late, so for the most part the library is quieter than even a library should be.

I'm tempted to leave my seat and find something to read, but I've been told to wait here until my parents return. Not sure if the risk of punishment is worth the reward of an adventure.

The hall at my school is being refurbished for upgrades, so the parent-teacher night this semester is being held here instead. So here I wait anxiously while my parents meet behind closed doors off to my left, fidgeting alone in front of one of the large arched windows, waiting for the interview to be over and done with.

I wonder what sort of feedback my parents will get? I doubt they'll be happy. While my performance and scores tend to do alright, my behaviour tends to 'leave much to be desired', in their words. Sighing, I look deeper into the window glass, swishing my legs back and forth on the high seat. My reflection stares quietly back at me, wide-eyed and nervous, dreaming of being somewhere else far away. Somewhere in one of those forbidden books I'm sure of it.

Beyond my reflection I watch the cherry-blossom trees sway gently in the wind outside. They celebrate life in full bloom at the peak of spring, careless and free in the streetlamp light. A bird sits calmly on one of their higher branches, slightly rocking to and fro in the wind, the occasional cherry blossom petal falling and weaving in the air around it.

It's staring directly at me. Déjà vu. I blink, shaking off a momentary, bizarre tingle in my mind that none of this is... real?

But it is real. A heavy wave of nausea crashes over me, and my stomach rumbles. Must be the hunger, since it's almost dinner time and I'm still sitting here waiting.

"An eagle," I whisper to myself, "just like in my books!"

"It can't be an eagle, silly," a sweet, soft voice says next to me, "they don't live around here!"

I turn my head sharply, instinctively seeking the source of that voice. And there she is: a short girl sits crossed-legged beside me, gazing up inquisitively at me with her big eyes. One is blue: a deep pool of clear water, hiding an undercurrent of sadness that sings to me; the other is hazel: primal earth, calling me away from the dead concrete of the city. One of her eyebrows is slightly raised as she studies me intently; behind those eyes is a sharp and intelligent mind. I can tell.

Her head is tilted curiously to one side, and her sun-kissed blonde hair is tied up in a neat little pony tail. A dozen tiny freckles sit sprinkled across the top of her nose and underneath her eyes. She instinctively bats her eyelids when I look at her, and a little smile betrays cute dimples.