Thursday, August 2, 2012

Today's Favorite Passage

A dream sequence in my fantasy in edit:

The hallway held a subtle silver hue as though formed by facing mirrors. Running into infinity, doors alternating left to right, Justen's images plodded. The corridor sloped upward, ceiling down, the walls neared.
He watched anxiously through two viewpoints, one several steps away from the other. The first door stood before one of him now. The door faded away, like a mist in a breeze, the view a familiar one, a classroom at Great Plains. Twenty-one children, all in pairs but one, worked on projects that lay before them.
Justen prepared for the expected cacophony, but there was utter silence. Each of the childrens' expressions, emotions and thoughts were nonetheless clear.
He focused on the sickly looking child, a single, scrawny boy-child who sat alone, as far away from the others as he could. His stringy hair was braided without enthusiasm. His silks hung about him loosely, as though no one bothered to tailor them for the slip of a boy.
Eleven projects, eleven parchments to display the story the teachers had just told. Ten portrayed a giant of a man wielding an enormous, gleaming sword, atop an equally goliath stallion that crushed the bodies of vanquished foe beneath its iron-clad hooves.
With delicate, unhesitating strokes, the sickly-looking one added to an intricate drawing of a humble administer dressed in rough-woven cloth, simple quilted cape, shoes, no knee-high riding boots. This man's horse was a sound one, yet it stood quietly, for its master spoke to those around him. No sword.
The faces of the onlookers were drawn as clearly as the rider's, as though their participation was of equal importance. Their eyes peered up intently, lips parted slightly, enthralled by the words they heard. The mounted man was important, but only because of his message.
As Justen and his other self watched, a pair of twins descended upon the sickly youth. The four laughed silently, pointing at the drawing the youth toiled over. "There's no sword," they challenged. "No battle. Where is his army?" Grimy hands smeared the intricate expressions of rider and disciples on the bleached parchment.
Justen looked for the teachers. Why didn't they come to the boy's aid? Why did the four tease him?
Justen shouted, "Leave him alone!"
There they were, the two adults, huddled in the corner, purposefully staying away. Justen and the other read the two. They were embarrassed of the child's interpretation, which slighted the memory of the realm's first monarch.

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