Tzoli's Red Leather Journal

Dreams in Colour: Indigo

From the heavens, the visage of a fire bird can be seen. The warmth of its light flows through everything. The burning feather dance indigo on it wings, its tail. The line between fantasy and reality blurs just a little more. The line between past, present and future.

"Story, I thought it was a story."

The bird takes flight, flying over a stone fountain of a dragon that slowly transforms. The cobblestones grow taller, longer, more fluid, the fountain sinks into the ground, the carved stone uncarving itself. The long fluid cobblestone slowly turn golden, no longer stone, but rather to grass. The fountain is but a pond, the sound of water rippling blends with the gentle rustle of wind blowing through the field.

The onlooker also shrinks, aging backwards, turning to a child. The grass, while not long, comes up to her waist, enveloping the girlish skirts she wears. Layer upon layer of fabric also rustles, but not with the wind, with movement.

Running -- Following.

"Firebird! Wait! Take me with you!"

Chasing after the quickly shrinking flames of indigo. Running through the grass, ignoring the whipping blades of grass on the dark skin of the arms. The flames of indigo do not halt, nor change direction and chasing is futile.

But the chase goes on until the lungs burn with indigo flame.

A sense of panic overtakes the body, the landscape foriegn. Shifting all around, changing on it own. Time itself seems fluid as plants grow and shrink, live and die. The mountains tumble into boulders, boulders crack into stones. In the distance, the Suns rise and fall so fast, they are a blur across the sky.

The field turns once again to city: the grass to cobble stone, the pond to a fountain. The sound of screaming can be heard coming from all directions, inky darkness pours into the streets, pushed back by burning light. Then ice falls from the sky, pelting everyone. Blood runs between the cobbles, mixing with the melting ice.

And the indigo flames puts it all out, washing over everything, blinding the sight. Eyes close against the brilliance and when they open, they are home. Not the home of the present, the home of the past. In bed, covered by a thick blanket.

"The fire bird momma...the firebird. I wanted to go with it."

"Hush now, hush...the fever will be gone soon." A cool rag preses against the skin, but the indigo flame burns in the body, bringing with it only pain. The muscles tighten into rocks (that were once boulders).

Screaming -- Burning

The blue flames fill the body with fevered dreams.

...this too is a dream...

Outside, white falls from the sky.

Inside, indigo flame absorbs the body.

The firebird is gone. The mind blurry.

...it was only a story....

Posted by Tzoli at March 7, 2005 09:25 AM