Premonition (Chapter 8)

 I could see it even if he couldn’t. The blood dripping from his fingers as he tried so desperately to hold on to those threads that kept us together. That pained expression upon that tear stained face of his. The dust from remnants of his broken heart sweeping across the darkness, forcing him to the ground. It was in this darkness that pain brought him strength. Bittersweet energy, just enough to fuel his will to live.
What was I to him, exactly? I could find a million words locked away in those intense emerald eyes, yet never understand a thing. He had never spoke a single word, his voice merely an illusion but a single look portrayed only a shadow of meaning.  Longing, confusion and fear. In what possible way could those 3 have in common. Only darkness and shadows had found its way into the equation. I could feel him watching me even if his eyes are elsewhere. What was this, obsession or predatorism? Either way, why do I feel at ease even IF I’m aware of it? Its somehow familiar, not to be confused of always being on edge with each enemy  flashing that threat of a so called ‘smile’ each morning. It was like he was one of us. “The Forgotten” I liked to call ourselves. The ones put aside by the Fates that were left to rot to our stagnant lives. The ones that weren’t able to win their favor and forgotten, reaching into the cold for an oasis each time to find only darker shades of black. I have no idea how many of us that were forgotten, existed. All I knew was, I couldn’t be the only one.
Some flowers were never meant to meet the sun. Why? They’d probably wilt and die with its intensity of its harsh unwelcoming blaze.  They were too fragile but that’s not their weakness. I’ve heard all the talk before. Of how positivity was the only path to walk and that the light is right and darkness was evil.
Those who were within the sun’s reach, had they known such suffering as I? Were they cast aside not only by the Fates but even by the ones that brought them into this world? Of having no one to rely on, having nothing to hope for, having every single dream shatter before your very eyes, wishing that death had taken you silently in the night and waking up to nightmares that was reality? Flowers of The Forgotten need not the sun. We’ve learned to live without it. We do not complain, we do not strike out nor trouble others. Yet when our tender vines sometimes try to grow towards the light, we’re mercilessly trampled upon by those whom despise what they cannot fathom to ever truly understand.
He’s one of us but that doesn’t make him  an ally. Neither does it make him the enemy…At least not just yet. Those words of his that were left unspoken were like dandelion seeds that refused to sail with the wind. It went against nature. By the looks of it, he was holding back. His lips parted only by a millimeter faded shut almost as unnoticeably as it had opened with not so much as even a breath passing through. I saw confusion rage on within his eyes out of the corner of mine when I had bumped into the class whore’s many roommates. He was lurking behind that pillar, half dissolved into the shadows just like in the night we met. This cage may be plush and perfumed but it was a cage nonetheless . Throughout my stay, I’ve heard voices constantly whispering to me things that I could never exactly make out and yet in my dreams, there is a strange figure, forever cloaked in darkness that had held me close to him from day one. However, just recently I had felt that the end results of my dreams had begun to affect the reality around me. Just like last night when I couldn’t remember ever going to sleep, yet he appeared just as he always does, in  times of need and in shadows. Saying that I trust in dreams would be saying that I put my trust in him, more than I ever did in reality itself. That warm enclosure was the one place that I felt truly safe. Muscles that protruded from strong arms wrapped themselves ever so gently around me that it made it even more confusing once dawn arrived. Was this a dream indeed? Could the dream world and reality merge into one? It was highly impossible, and even if it did, then it meant that he had to be real. Whoever ‘HE’ actually was.
My name is Arista Pendragon and I’m in love with a man that probably doesn’t exist. My, how desperate that seemed to sound. That’s the reason why I had denied my true liking for the phenomenon of my repeated dreams for so long. However I can’t call them dreams. Neither are they unpleasant enough to be called nightmares nor pleasant enough to be called actual dreams for fear of false hope. This may be so but that boy reminds me of him. Silent, dark and full of secrets yet every little movement gives the ghost of a clue. Another thing could be that we could sense each other’s unwillingness to live as we are at present and that we could recognize the longings each of us had without the needing of sight. We were willing to take risks, but I don’t know how much longer I can afford to do so. Would it be called cheating if your lover could possibly, yet could possibly NOT exist? while falling in love with someone that could be, in a fraction of a way, similar to him? Even inside my own thoughts, this sounded absolutely absurd...What WAS reality now anyway? The lines had become so blurred that it was becoming harder and harder to tell them apart. My memory seems to black out even more than usual as well. I recall most things but I just can’t remember if it was or wasn’t part of a dream. However, I know what’s happening right now.
On a failed attempt to skip a weekend class, I had bumped into one of Lucianna’s many toys. A bumbling fool with the tendency to wink at me every so often. As I make my escape from him, the disciplinary teachers materialize and sends us to class with not even so much as a scowl. I don’t blame them. Up to their necks in kids that they’re surrounded by 24-7, who wouldn’t be completely fed up? While those 2 zombies were paving the way in front of us, I glace back. Flourite. He was there behind that pillar. I could feel his eyes on me and yet surprisingly, I didn’t squirm. It was as if that piece of carved rock was invisible and I could see those eyes, sighing to themselves as they continue to look on. I pay no attention to the idiot that got me back into that huddle of poison ivy vines I had to call my classmates. He eventually gives up and retreats to the rest of the drowned out voices. Apparently his encounter with me was nothing but some sort of a dare. A dare he had somehow lost. I amuse myself with the sight of his friends pushing him out the window. He won’t die, per say, but both him and his ego would be heavily bruised. We were on the first floor anyway, its not enough to die. I know. I’ve tried.