Requiem for a Dream

It always starts with her approaching a door. It's always a different door each time - and tonight it's large and made of oak, covered in intricate carvings that remind her of ripples on a large, still body of water.

She knows the door would open for her because it always does, at the lightest touch of the tips of her fingers... but she never knows what awaits her on the other side. Her fingers could be opening the way to another nightmare. Or to total silence.

There is no stopping this, however. She has no wish to stop this, because sometimes -

Sometimes the door opens to reveal a large, well-lit room. It could be sunset or sunrise outside the large window. From where she stands she can see very little: there is only the window, and the piano, and the piano chair, and the boy.

The boy looks at her. He stands. It takes a little effort for him to stand - certainly more than it takes for her - but he must stand for her. It is his usual greeting.

He says something, but she can't hear it. But the words that his lips form don't matter.

It is sunset, she realizes. The light gradually dims, leaving music to fill the room in its place.

She has lost count of how many pieces they had played together. Knowing she had difficulty with the melody sometimes, he paused to teach her how to play better, faster, more easily. She has lost count of how many times he has done this, too. And how many times she has lain her head on his shoulder.

The lid of the grand piano is shut. But there's no need to let anyone else hear the music now. This is only for the ones behind the closed oak door.

She looks at him. She stands. He smiles and stays seated, having many more melodies to play than she does.

She walks around him and the piano. She climbs to the top and sits on the piano's lid. She is small and it is sturdy enough to hold her.

If not for the music, it would be dark enough for anything.

"May I kiss you?" she asks.

He laughs softly and just as softly says something she can't understand.

"Just this once. Please?"

He stops. She waits for him to look up. It takes almost forever... but when he finally does, she does not wait any longer.

For a long instant, they are the same age. They belong in the same time and space, can speak the same language, and can touch without fear of consequence. Without fear of losing each other, for example, because they have known each other all their lives, and will continue to do so, though not after this.

Not after she wakes up.

Then it's time for another door and another dream of something else beyond her reach.

*

Author's Note: This fic was inspired by Polidread's recent artwork of
[ Simoun and Sheila ], which was actually my wallpaper for a long, long time.

[ email Whiskeybird ]