Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ YaY! ❯ Three ( Chapter 3 )

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Mikia lost herself in the dream, wanting it to be real, believing it, needing it to be real. Desperately gasping, reaching with every fiber of her existence, out for each detail of the already whisked away dream, left only with the descending spiral of the grey nomatter. She saw herself as if she lay outside her body, reach out a pale, long boned hand to strain her fingers through the nomatter.

It ran around her fingers, like a fast-moving river might, coiling around them and forcing tiny whirlpools for the dust that never really existed here, to be caught within. She found a hair-thin strand of golden thread swimming against the tide. She grasped it with all the fervor of her lost dream.

Jerking it out of the wall of nomatter, a drop of nomatter falling straight down to her feet, cooling her smallest left toe for an instant in reality. She froze, her tiny unconscious movements, the gentle swaying with the up-flowing breeze falling still. Though her long, over the shoulder hair, blacker than this very ink, still twined, knotted, and smoothed itself, willessly in the air. She slowly brought the golden thread up to clutch it to herself desperately, a real thing! Something beside myself exists in here, closing her cold-tiger eyes from grayness to the twilight blackness behind her eyelids.

The blackness and grayness both flat and too simple. She wished again, now for the dream she had only moments before, when the nomatter let her mind transport itself out, away. Though feebly and just for a mere, scathing moment the dreams were more precious to her than she could have imagined.

Why do they need me like this? What for do I stay? Could I ever go. This was the fate of my sisters, my mother, my grandmother and all of my aunts. How did we even come to be, if my mother, grandmama, etcetera, never left this nomatter place? How do I even know language, I must have learned it somewhere, one does not be born with such knowledge.

I have memories, don't I? She let the golden trinket slip back into the spiral. Of course I do! One of my favorite things is to watch the night, to stare down the moon, and o! Those stormy nights! I would sit hours just to gaze into marbles until the harsh light of day took the night's magic away. For a moment that lasted forever she paused, a deep breath fell from her chest. What does it all mean?

A crystalline tear fell from her cheek, she remembered her family, though she couldn't seem to place men as more than around from time to time. She had a twin sister, Lacida, she was much more wild and willful, though Mikia was not lacking in these areas. Lacida was identical to her in every physical way, grey eyes, black hair, silken and thick, long bones and pale skin, fine features all with an edge of harshness, a ripple of strength and power.

Mikia also remembered an older sister, teaching her from an old, old leather bound book at the summit of a cold mountain. They'd gotten there by horseback. Mikia's horse was an old grey dappled mare, sure-footed and calm. Her older sister, Tirena, rode a pure white stallion, wandering around the mountain, young and spirited. Mikia didn't know what the lesson was about, she could only place long, windy words.

Tirena was strong. Mikia's eyes always looked up to her. She had mouse brown hair and was not of any particular beauty or lack-of, Tirena was exactly as she made herself. Her skin tanned, not as smooth as Mikia and Lacida's, for a few more years of work and exposure to the harsh rays of harvest's sun.

Tirena loved the day, she observed a sun-worshipper's schedule, whenever the sun rested so did she. Whilst it blazed, she would too. Though Mikia and Lacida would save all of their chores until the sun would sink low below the horizon and the stars gave the gentle light for the night.

Mikia, Tirena and Lacida's mother was not very remarkable in any way, except for she kept a home together and a roof over their heads through, what Mikia knew, were difficult times. Not for money but something else, horrible, awful people, very mean people were after the four of them.

Her aunts would help them from time to time, but soon their help faded away, Mikia knew that trouble was abound for all the Natural children. She felt helpless knowing that herself and all of her family were not bad people, only different in how they carried out their daily life, what they taught.

Mikia remembered how people of the outside world would shy away from her when she healed a small cut, bruise or burn with a few simple words and gestures of blessing and goodwill, speaking as an interpreter for the kinder of the spirits. Some would run away and more people would come, looking as if they wanted the child's life.

Mikia remembered gifts from aunts, when they'd come to help her family, marbles, scrolls, old and full of mystic power, quills too, books and staffs. Her aunts would bring the marbles and present them to Mikia.

Whenever an aunt would arrive Tirena would bring them into their mother's chamber, leaving graciously. Mikia would disobey her older sister's wishes and hide behind the oaken-carved door until finally the aunt would give the gifts. She loved them so and would stare at them for ages, sitting all night long gazing into one never moving. Lacida would spend the nights writing, with the quills scratching in a book that had no cover to sit on, the pages seemed as if they could go on forever. Tirena would spend days and nights pouring over the scrolls, the books and discovering the talents of the staffs. Sometimes her sisters wouldn't sleep or eat for days or more and Mikia would be worried.

She remembered all that, from a long time ago. The wispful half formed visions of her past brought a brief, warm, genuine smile to her small harsh lips. Truly happy, living in the past, Mikia let herself catch, from within herself the dream cord, the soft velvet cord with a luxurious tassel or two on it. She felt it and let it rub in her mind's hands before she tugged on it softly and fell into a sleep. The nomatter coming closer, but not touching her as she let sweet dreams infuse with the comfortable memories, jaded underneath, to make her own, unique place inside herself.

The dreams faded and twisted, the nomatter struggling to wrench them from her mind, but the dreams refreshed themselves, to be her dreams when she called, her reality and her memories.

She slept for a long time, sinking through her own wishes, down for a moment and soar back up, where dreams seemed to rest beneath her and she'd reach down frantically, clawing at the dark, rich ground of soft sleep.

In some time she dreamt and floated down and then back up, up through her dream into the nomatter reality. No thoughts came to her while she waked. And afterword, in her livid dreams, she was grateful.

She swam in and out like this for what could have been hours or weeks, she had no way of knowing, but she would say, if you asked her, I felt myself dreaming for two days and I dreamt I woke up once, and I may still be dreaming.

She never felt hungry or wanting of anything, save for the misty, intense desire for a life her dreams told her she could have. Free, running, flying, she wanted to sit or stand sometimes, to do something besides float in the center of a downward nomatter spiral. These wills were indistinct and always quelled when she reached out to run her fingertips through the soothing nomatter.

She woke. Suddenly, for no real reason but to think, Today is a special unique day. The thought awoke an overwhelming desire to be free, to sit in a darkened window, reading an old dusty book by the moonlight. To wake with the rising stars and kiss the sun a welcome sleep. She wanted everything she had before this day, so strongly she desired this it felt as if a stiletto had been thrust above her heart, to spread pain, a wretched longing all throughout her soul.

She cried out softly, the first sound she had uttered for a very, very long time. She opened her eyes, not knowing when she had closed them, and stared at such a fixed point, far away, past the walls of the nomatter and spoke in a quiet firm voice, spilling her soul as she raised a fist, muscles complaining of misuse,

"I will have my life, they can have me no longer, I am leaving."