NaNoWriMo: The End of the Beginning

He stood waited for the moon to hit, until the voice had shaken him from the moon’s sway.

“I’mmmm heeeere, Dusssstinnn…” she moaned.

Dustin had looked down to see curtains hanging on one of the walls; it was the first that he had noticed of them. The silk curtains were worn and frayed, and he could see a fragmented view of someone standing behind them. Caution and eagerness waged a war within his heart as he argued with himself as to whether or not he should be so reckless to go to the figure. A voice in his heart told him that he must, while a voice in his head told him that he would be making a costly mistake. His heart won. He walked over to the curtains and gripped the edges of the curtains with his trembling hands. He ripped them open and stopped the sight that awaited him stopped him in his tracks.

A woman stood over by the balustrade, but she was much more than a woman; a goddess, perhaps. She stood confident and tall as she watched the horizon, and while she had her back to him, Dustin knew that she was surely the sort of beautiful that inspired people to write songs and sonnets. Her shoulder length brown hair swept around in a nonexistent breeze. That airless wind had also tugged at her silver gown, which looked like a thin sheet of fog woven into a fabric form, and seemed to radiate an ethereal aura beneath the moon’s rays. He could have stood there and watched her watching the world, and he would have been nothing less than sublimely happy, yet he needed to talk to her, to know why she called for him.

“I’m here,” he whispered breathlessly.

“I was waiting for you,” she replied.

She started turning her head and Dustin’s ears began to ring. He jammed his eyes shut from the discomfort and clapped his hands over his head.

“Dammit,” he groaned.

Dustin wrenched his eyes open and cast a murderous look at his interfering alarm clock. The voice in his head screamed for retribution at having been denied the victory that it so desperately needed. He chucked a pillow across the room and took out the whole of the table that sat the alarm clock. It was a little bit excessive, but it had the desired effect; glorious silence had once again rung through his bedroom and he drifted off to catch a few last winks before he started the day. His mind ran to the last few moments of the dream and he felt cheated once more.

“Every single time,” he moaned into his pillow.