“You knew me first. I didn’t think you were real. I didn’t dare think you were real.” I inched toward her, slowly extended my hand to her back. “Tell me a little of you.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Your name.”
“You know it.”
“Anna Mithun.”
“Mithun? Maybe. I only know Anna.”
Anna, Caleb's younger sister, died when she was three years old. At least that's what Caleb's mother told him. That's what the hospital told him.
The dream I had centered around Anna. A boy had a dream of a girl he'd never met, but the girl acted as if they'd grown up nearly as siblings. They'd always been in love with each other.
“What are you?” I asked.
She giggled and cupped her chin in my hand.
I thought. “My sister!”
She nodded, turning her eyes in a playful circle.
“Sort of my sister?”
She shook her head.
“All my sister, but not at all my sister.”
She jumped and clapped like a child, then took my sleeve and pulled me further into the house.
The dream I had centered around Anna. A boy had a dream of a girl he'd never met, but the girl acted as if they'd grown up nearly as siblings. They'd always been in love with each other.
“What are you?” I asked.
She giggled and cupped her chin in my hand.
I thought. “My sister!”
She nodded, turning her eyes in a playful circle.
“Sort of my sister?”
She shook her head.
“All my sister, but not at all my sister.”
She jumped and clapped like a child, then took my sleeve and pulled me further into the house.
But as the dream went on the boy saw inferences of the horror the girl lived in. The images darkened and darkened and darkened, until the girl died. Of shame? Because she couldn't take being alive anymore? The clearest memory of my dream is the boy saying, "He killed her. He killed her, so I killed him."
Caleb wasn't even in my dream, but the boy (who, of course, became Evan) has a friend. In his dream the girl takes him to their childhood bedroom, where there is a single bed and a set of bunks. The girl also gives him a set of three identical rings. Originally I meant to use some sort of token in the story, but rings were just too LOTR, and the whole token thing wound up not working. Anyway, in my dream there was an understanding of a friend, with whom the boy (in the non-dream world) sets out to find the girl.
Anna is just over five feet tall, with a small (though not especially thin) frame. Her eyes are green and bright: identical to Caleb's. Her hair is brown with definite red undertones.
I know: her hair and eyes are like mine. That wasn't intentional. She was quite clear in my mind--she had green eyes and reddish-brown hair. She really doesn't look like me, but the basic description hints otherwise!
I personally think Evan gives the best description of her. This conversation in one of the first in the story. Evan has just dreamt of Anna, but he doesn't know her name is Anna or anything else about her.
“Tell me how she looked." [Caleb said.]
“Remember that sculpture exhibit last summer?”
“Absolutely.”
“She looked like one of the statues. If you could take one those beautiful marble faces, and crush a peach over it to bring it to life, it would look like her.”
He smiled. “Poet. Tell me of her eyes.”
“Green,” I said. “A whole lot like yours, actually.”
“Well that kills the poetry.”
As I'm sure you've all deduced, Anna is not actually dead. I don't want to tell too much, because I want my finished story to hold at least a little interest!
Anna is just over five feet tall, with a small (though not especially thin) frame. Her eyes are green and bright: identical to Caleb's. Her hair is brown with definite red undertones.
I know: her hair and eyes are like mine. That wasn't intentional. She was quite clear in my mind--she had green eyes and reddish-brown hair. She really doesn't look like me, but the basic description hints otherwise!
I personally think Evan gives the best description of her. This conversation in one of the first in the story. Evan has just dreamt of Anna, but he doesn't know her name is Anna or anything else about her.
“Tell me how she looked." [Caleb said.]
“Remember that sculpture exhibit last summer?”
“Absolutely.”
“She looked like one of the statues. If you could take one those beautiful marble faces, and crush a peach over it to bring it to life, it would look like her.”
He smiled. “Poet. Tell me of her eyes.”
“Green,” I said. “A whole lot like yours, actually.”
“Well that kills the poetry.”
As I'm sure you've all deduced, Anna is not actually dead. I don't want to tell too much, because I want my finished story to hold at least a little interest!
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