As always, Luís dreamt in straight lines and Nora dreamt in curves. She followed endless rows of supermarket shelves that wound serpentine through impossible landscapes, shelves twisted through with tree branches, candle wax dripping from stars winking overhead. She picked out teas and candies and cremes and fictional sweets in the wake of a woman who walked always just around the bend. If Nora walked fast enough she could just see the trailing of her dress, but she was always too slow to see her face.
She slept well enough most nights; there were always more curves to follow, and the woman she walked behind moved ever forward. But tonight as Nora dreamt, she shed blankets and brushed pillows to the floor. Once, she stirred enough to wake Luís, asleep on the other couch, but he was used to his cousin's nocturnal restlessness and fell quickly back asleep to trace his dreaming lines.
As always, Nora dreamt in curves that whorled endlessly into the insurmountable distance. The curves all led to the same place – they all did, they always did, they always had. But through her dreams wound a feeling – twisting, whirling, twirling – a feeling that always was quickly coming to an end. Night after night she walked these path and never reached their conclusion, but tonight they unraveled like ribbons beneath her feet, fraying at the ends.
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Closer to the Sun || A Fairy Tale on Hiking Trails
Fantasy🌲 🦊 🐭 Campbell was ten the first time he turned into a mouse. The only person he could tell was his best friend Shea, but on that same day, she vanished into thin air. And when she returned, she was... different. They both were. They'd seen place...
