Long Dream - February 24, 2011

The rain poured, like slick blood, over the grim shadow of what used to be the man, but had long sense ceased to be anything more than simple existence, a dry machine of taking in and out the aiar. In his hand he held a possession and guarded it well against the water. The road was dark which cut across the land. It speared off into the distance.
An oceany sky that hovered above was clouded in soft gray clouds that had stretched across the map of it. It was cold, though the man didn't feel since his pale white fingers were numb, slow to move as if rebellious of the orders he gave. He leaned against a giant tractor wheel, red rusted metal farm equipment and garbage frozen in their states.
He leant forward, a flicker in the bare rain giving life to a smoky creature pinned between the middle and index fingers. For a moment it showed a dot of his face in warm color: the soft crinkled appearance of a fleck of gold in the eyes, smooth pale face, and the beginnings of another beard all looming behind the cloud smoke. But he pulled away. The flicker extinguished into a moon-misty gray.
The whole world was in motions and swirling, making that familiar sound. And the cold pinged viciously at his thick coat, trying to reach the warmth inside. But the man swayed, his dark gray eyes, blinking, listened to the rhythem hush-hush-hush. For a moment the man closed sky tinged gray circles.
A shuffle of footsteps from behind alarmed the stranger, and his hands shook, jerking up, the cigarette flying out of them was put out on the wet dirt. A bang that shook the rusted metal right off caused it to ring like a bell.
“Who’s there?” The man snapped his voice scratchy and deep, abrupt.
“Me.” The figure but whispered ashamedly.
“Who is me?”
He turned around, suddenly to find a small person walking towards him wearing a white long scarf.
“It’s me.”
“Be gone with you.” He commented softly as his eyes cleared to see a girl, seventeen, who had gray hair and a wilting flower tucked above her left ear. “You’ve a baby who’s sick don’t you girl?”
“She’s safe. Gran’s takin’ care of her.”
“No child is safe with her mother states away. You should leave.” He said, looking at her from the corner of slumping eyes.
She shook her head firmly, setting her eyes on him. Her dark hair billowed in the fierce wind, slapping her face and unhinging an necklace into movement.
“I’ll find out away. I love you.” She whispered.
She walked forward, freezing him with her frosty eyes. “I love you.” She whispered.
She walked to him and bent his head slowly down, kissing his forehead.
“I love you.” She whispered. The wind whispered. The trees whispered.
His heart protested in his ribs.
The mother took her necklace bearing an arrowhead off her neck and placed it over his head.
“Watch out for our baby. You must.”
He, of course, protested. "But she's already dead, Elis. Has been for so long. Many years."
There was a great gushing wind bringing rain with it that you could barely see-flecking rain drops like slivers of tiny arrows falling to earth. The man gasped in breath. He blinked and touched his shirt where his finger pricked the necklace still hanging there on the weak string, then looked around him.
But it was just him.

-Pinquill girl