Jane's eyes shot open at the sound of the alarm. For a moment, her brain struggled to make sense of the surroundings so completely at odds with the place she had closed her eyes and she flailed a bit, banging her elbow on the nightstand before she managed to disable the annoying buzz from her clock. That accomplished, she sagged back into bed and closed her eyes, for once not worried at all that she would fall back asleep and end getting up late. It felt like no time at all had passed between her lying down in the forest and waking up at home, in the same room she always woke up in, but after some careful evaluation she decided that she felt just as rested as she should for the amount that she'd slept. She sighed and opened her eyes again. Back to reality. Now the pictures papering her ceiling all seemed so lifeless, so uninspired, such colorless substitutes for the real thing. What she wanted was a forest. A quick glance through the drawings confirmed that she didn't have anything like the mossy old forest she had trudged through the day - night? - before, and a quick check of the clock established that she had some extra time before she had to get ready for school. She always set her alarm for half an hour before she actually had to get out of bed because she was such a reluctant riser, but today she was too excited to stay in the blankets.
She sat up, but something seemed off. Jane looked down at her feet, bare and only half-visible, sunken into the thick little area rug she kept beside the bed. What was she missing? She flexed her toes experimentally. That was it. Her feet weren't sore, and they certainly had been when she went to sleep in the forest. So, what happened there, physically, didn't affect her here.
Well of course not, she thought. Why would it? It's just a dream, nothing that happens there is real, right? Why would I think that it would?
Still thoughtful, Jane moved a stack of books and swept colored pencils off of the side of the desk she used for drawing before she pulled her chair around. One fresh sheet of paper and a sharp-tipped pencil later, she began sketching the thick, gnarled trees with their heavy branches. She loved the way the roots crawled over mossy rocks, half overgrown with moss themselves, with fern fronds curling up between them. Once she had the outline sketched in, she deliberated over what to color it in with. Colored pencils? No, not enough saturation. Same with watercolors. She wanted the deepest, richest greens and darkest shadows she could produce. Jane nodded. She reached down to the bottom desk drawer and pulled out the set of oil pastels she had bought last summer. She didn't use them very often, but this called for them. Mom replaced pencils and paper and even markers as 'school supplies,' but if she wanted anything really nice she had to buy it herself. Well, that or ask for it for Christmas or birthday, and hope that Mom bought the ones she wanted.
Lines of color quickly filled in the bones of the forest, and Jane went back over some places again and again, layering shadow, texturing bark, adding a line of dappled light across the mossy, root covered stones. Once it was finished to her satisfaction, she sat back and looked at it. Beautiful. A quick glance at the clock showed that she had a few minutes left before she needed to begin preparations for school, and she was anxious to draw something else, record her memories of her incredible night in case the memories started to fade, the way dreams always did. She wasn't sure what she wanted to draw, but she set the forest aside and pulled a fresh sheet of paper to her and let her pencil wander.
Perhaps Jane shouldn't have been surprised when a pair of warm, concerned eyes emerged from its tip, but she was. She stopped for a moment, then slowly continued sketching. She traced a straight nose, a mouth, the line of his jaw - somehow stubborn without ever being impolite - then added the pointed 'Robin Hood' hat above it all and quickly swept in some hair. She was shading in the scruffy stubble along his chin when she happened to glance at the clock. Crap! No more time to work on it now, she'd have to rush to get ready for school in time.
YOU ARE READING
Ring of Dreams
Teen Fiction"All that you have read, all that you have imagined, it can be real. All you need is the key." The old man spread his arms wide, bowing. For some reason Jane could just picture him making that gesture with wide, fluttering sleeves. It would suit him...
