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All an Illusion
The transformation
The field was dead. It was nothing but a wide plane of glass stretching out before her, almost as timeless and dead as herself. Everywhere she went death followed. It was the invisible black shadow that clung to her every footstep, claiming her, controlling her and robbing her of every breath she took. She strode purposefully through the grass, sure of her pathway but yet so lost. The air was hot with tension, it snapped and zinged with electricity, that coursed through her own veins supplying her with infinite energy. The moon shone brightly, illuminating the field and casting out all the teasing shadows from the light. The wind however, resisted, a thick solid wall, that wafted it's way through the grass, sending it's silent coded warnings after her. She sighed heavily, suddenly, overwhelmed by the heavy burden she carried.
She closed her eyelids, inhaling deeply and when she breathed out, she was there, in the center of the field, in the clearing. Her head throbbed, not able to swallow the anxiety she felt in her throat. No she told herself resolutely, stick to the mission. And she did.
She circled the clearing, her footsteps as light as a feather as if they knew themselves which very grass blades to step on. Her eyes were fixed on the clearing, zeroing in on the young man who knelt there. He was a rock, motionless and still. His reddish brown hair hung forwards, covering his face and distorting his features, but that did not matter he was not important.
Her brain was automatically calculating the angle she would need, analyzing him, what his weaknesses would be, his strengths. Stubbornly she shut them out, not wanting to hear from this cursed sixth sense she had so strangely acquired. Tonight it was her and the blade. That was all she would need, and all she would use. She hesitated before moving, cocking her head and listening intently. It was quiet, too quiet, any other day her heart would be hammering madly in her chest by now, her palms sweating her breath coming out in ragged grasps, the adrenaline pulsing through her. But she felt nothing, just a mysterious gnawing emptiness.
With an expert kick, she sprung up from the ground and flipped over on to her hands, forming a straight hand spring and landed an inch behind him. He jumped up, his movement surprisingly fast. But she was quicker, within a second she had him in a firm hold, her blade pressed against his back. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, waiting for his response. But he didn't squirm, or cry out, no reaction. Her brow furrowed wondering why he wasn't protesting. She whipped him around roughly, shoved him to the floor, so that he was facing her. She raised the knife, the memory of her heart beating like a drum, thudded encouragingly in her ears. She raised the knife higher and studied him for the last time, perplexed at his silent surrender. He blinked back and she flinched. Reluctantly she let her eyes meet his, squirming at the mirror she saw, and the memory that followed . .
…. It was four days before. She was lying down in the center of the clearing. She knew she would have to get up soon, and return to go home; after all it was a school night. The wind howled loudly, nudging her to get up, while her iPod continued to blare away in her pocket. She was just getting up, when she was suddenly knocked back to the ground. She crashed to the floor, her head cracking against the ground. The next thing she knew she could not stand up again, her legs were glued to the ground by an invisible force. Her eyes blurred, as she struggled to breathe. Slowly, a chilling, burning pain was spreading from her throat. She raked her nails across her skin, trying to stop the pain. But it would not stop. Not until her whole body was alight with it. Pain. Pain and more pain, that was all she felt. She screamed and yelled but no one heard, her urgent cries echoed harmlessly across the meadow. No one would hear, and that was why she had come, for some piece and quiet. She didn’t know how long she laid there, her body on fire. But then just like that it disappeared. It was like stepping into the warmth from the cold, her body tingled with the hurt but it was all gone. She stood up, feeling slightly disorientated and weird, but very curious to see what heaven would like. Because that’s where she was. She had died and gone to heaven. Amazingly, she was in a meadow, but not the same meadow of course. No, this one was different. Very different, the grass was as clear as a pencil under a magnifying glass, each detail was sharp and lucid in front of her. The whole world was telling her a different story; she could hear the wind rustling through the trees, twenty meters away. And when she closed her eyes, picturing the trees in her mind she was there. This had to be heaven, right?.....
She gasped, the memory hitting her like a slap in a face. She squinted down at the man in front of her, taking in his pale, pale skin, the deep golden eyes, the perfect face, and all the details that she had so skillfully ignored. She glanced down at her own hands, noticing the lack of the heat that came from them, the pale skin that matched his, and imagined what the colours of her eyes were. The knife slithered out of her hand, her sudden eagerness to be one with the blade had vanished. The moment was lost, instead replaced with a bitter raw ache where her heart should have been. She dragged herself away, mourning for who she was, and scared of what she had become. How could she expect to kill, when she couldn’t even fight the battle that raged within herself?
She heard him before he appeared behind her, placing a hand on the small of her back and looking at her questioningly. For the first time she really acknowledged his presence, and she waited curiously for what he was going to say.
“I guess it’s a little bit late for introductions, considering the fact that you just tried to kill me, but my name is Edward,” he said, offering her a hand, “Edward Cullen.”
She smiled back awkwardly, taking his hand; it was like he had read her mind.
She closed her eyelids, inhaling deeply and when she breathed out, she was there, in the center of the field, in the clearing. Her head throbbed, not able to swallow the anxiety she felt in her throat. No she told herself resolutely, stick to the mission. And she did.
She circled the clearing, her footsteps as light as a feather as if they knew themselves which very grass blades to step on. Her eyes were fixed on the clearing, zeroing in on the young man who knelt there. He was a rock, motionless and still. His reddish brown hair hung forwards, covering his face and distorting his features, but that did not matter he was not important.
Her brain was automatically calculating the angle she would need, analyzing him, what his weaknesses would be, his strengths. Stubbornly she shut them out, not wanting to hear from this cursed sixth sense she had so strangely acquired. Tonight it was her and the blade. That was all she would need, and all she would use. She hesitated before moving, cocking her head and listening intently. It was quiet, too quiet, any other day her heart would be hammering madly in her chest by now, her palms sweating her breath coming out in ragged grasps, the adrenaline pulsing through her. But she felt nothing, just a mysterious gnawing emptiness.
With an expert kick, she sprung up from the ground and flipped over on to her hands, forming a straight hand spring and landed an inch behind him. He jumped up, his movement surprisingly fast. But she was quicker, within a second she had him in a firm hold, her blade pressed against his back. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, waiting for his response. But he didn't squirm, or cry out, no reaction. Her brow furrowed wondering why he wasn't protesting. She whipped him around roughly, shoved him to the floor, so that he was facing her. She raised the knife, the memory of her heart beating like a drum, thudded encouragingly in her ears. She raised the knife higher and studied him for the last time, perplexed at his silent surrender. He blinked back and she flinched. Reluctantly she let her eyes meet his, squirming at the mirror she saw, and the memory that followed . .
…. It was four days before. She was lying down in the center of the clearing. She knew she would have to get up soon, and return to go home; after all it was a school night. The wind howled loudly, nudging her to get up, while her iPod continued to blare away in her pocket. She was just getting up, when she was suddenly knocked back to the ground. She crashed to the floor, her head cracking against the ground. The next thing she knew she could not stand up again, her legs were glued to the ground by an invisible force. Her eyes blurred, as she struggled to breathe. Slowly, a chilling, burning pain was spreading from her throat. She raked her nails across her skin, trying to stop the pain. But it would not stop. Not until her whole body was alight with it. Pain. Pain and more pain, that was all she felt. She screamed and yelled but no one heard, her urgent cries echoed harmlessly across the meadow. No one would hear, and that was why she had come, for some piece and quiet. She didn’t know how long she laid there, her body on fire. But then just like that it disappeared. It was like stepping into the warmth from the cold, her body tingled with the hurt but it was all gone. She stood up, feeling slightly disorientated and weird, but very curious to see what heaven would like. Because that’s where she was. She had died and gone to heaven. Amazingly, she was in a meadow, but not the same meadow of course. No, this one was different. Very different, the grass was as clear as a pencil under a magnifying glass, each detail was sharp and lucid in front of her. The whole world was telling her a different story; she could hear the wind rustling through the trees, twenty meters away. And when she closed her eyes, picturing the trees in her mind she was there. This had to be heaven, right?.....
She gasped, the memory hitting her like a slap in a face. She squinted down at the man in front of her, taking in his pale, pale skin, the deep golden eyes, the perfect face, and all the details that she had so skillfully ignored. She glanced down at her own hands, noticing the lack of the heat that came from them, the pale skin that matched his, and imagined what the colours of her eyes were. The knife slithered out of her hand, her sudden eagerness to be one with the blade had vanished. The moment was lost, instead replaced with a bitter raw ache where her heart should have been. She dragged herself away, mourning for who she was, and scared of what she had become. How could she expect to kill, when she couldn’t even fight the battle that raged within herself?
She heard him before he appeared behind her, placing a hand on the small of her back and looking at her questioningly. For the first time she really acknowledged his presence, and she waited curiously for what he was going to say.
“I guess it’s a little bit late for introductions, considering the fact that you just tried to kill me, but my name is Edward,” he said, offering her a hand, “Edward Cullen.”
She smiled back awkwardly, taking his hand; it was like he had read her mind.
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something different :) comments and critisism are as usual more than welcome x