As she runs in the dream and laughs, Sereia does not wonder if her real body twitches or laughs where it hangs, suspended in the deep blue of the ocean. She does not think of what normal living is like. For Sereia, in this moment, this dream is her reality. There is nothing more than this. She is so asleep, so given over to and committed to this dream that she tumbles into it. It is a rabbit hole that pulls her deeper, deeper down. She sinks, with a smile upon her real body and laughter that peels from her sleeping lips and rises in silent bubbles to pop upon the sea’s surface.
Dune is ahead of her. It is so easy to chase him, the huntress part of her thrives upon the chase. Though she feels the drive, she does not fear it, not in this place where Dune is the only boy she has never wanted to eat. She pursues him, fast, fast, faster than her kelpie self could go and yet he is faster. Always he edges away, always he is out of her grasp. Maybe it was a sign she should have heeded, for are dreams not full of them sometimes? The boy is out of her grasp, he is not for her to catch.
But she runs after him anyway and laughs until her lungs burst and the diamond dust he kicks up clings to her sea-salt skin. She glitters like a cave wall dusted in precious stones. It takes her less time to see that they are flying. Her eyes close as she rises, her breaths snag in her lungs. She can breathe in any way she chooses, but this, oh this astounds her. There is no water to cradle her, nothing that holds her. She flies effortless and the air feels like nothing at all.
Dune is slowing, and she approaches faster, faster as he grows slower, slower. The lighthouse blinks at the pair as it turns. It bathes them in warm light. Beneath its glow she slows to a stop and taps the roof of the lighthouse with a toe. It chimes like a bell, telling of her victory. She listens to the strange noise and tips her head back as she floats, relishing her victory. Her gaze tips to his as the light sweeps round, it bathes him in gold where he floats. A flash, like lightning, illuminating him starkly, fiercely. Leto’s eyes grow serious as she holds him in the warmth of her wide, wide eyes. “You look like a god like that,” Sereia breathes. “I thought you were a figment of my dream but what if you are something more.” A moment more she gazes at him before she then looks away. It is too much like tearing her gaze away. It takes too much effort. “I have never had dreams like this.” her voice drops to a shy whisper. “Thank you, whatever you might be.”
Little fish. His words creep back and they steal the smile from her lips. She looks out over the sea and obediently it turns to grass, to a wild meadow devoid of fish or kelpies like her. Still the diamond dust of their beach run hangs in the air, now it is like a fine, dawn mist over the open meadow. Slowly Sereia looks back to him, with lovely eyes but a figure too slim. “Why did you call me little fish?” She asks, her voice small and sad. “Are you mocking me?” Now her voice drops to a whisper and she hopes that he is not. But if he is a god or her conscious, his reasons could be anything at all. The light flashes across his body, again and again. It beats like a heart that grows faster, faster. She then realises it is her own, how it races, how she feels it more than she should. She is nervous, even here. She aches beneath the name he called her. Oh, she thinks, is this where it becomes a nightmare again?
@
~Anna Funder
