Before It's Voiced

Legend

Beta'd by the always amazing chaotic-panda

~

leg·end

noun

a story which usually includes an element of truth, or is based on historical facts, but with 'mythical qualities'.

The light of the moon feels brighter when Pete's seeing it from his bed. He's never noticed before how easy it can be to dull the celestial object, to ignore it, to trade the reality for the reflection in a merman's eyes. Though he had only spent a few nights on the rocks, it feels strange to be looking at the night sky from the safety of his room. The moon, framed by the stars, gleams in ways Pete had never noticed it do so before. Shining through the window, amplified by the glass, it grins. The distortion appears as an arrogant yet fragile bird.

The thought comes to Pete in the time between thinking and dreaming, the place between falling asleep and sleeping itself. His limbs, heavy and feeling nonexistent beneath a thin blanket, twitch in time to the creatures' voices in his head.

Pete shuts his eyes. They're still there.

They haven't changed their tones, haven't separated into voices Pete might want to understand. The words, though, have shifted. They've become one endless cycle of repetitions.

Sleep. Dream. This is sleep. This is a dream.

It still doesn't sound properly human but the continuous cadence is enough for Pete to accept it. So long as they stay calm, so long as they do not cry out in voices of thunder as before, Pete can put off his concern.

Sleep.

Dream.

This is sleep.

This is a dream.

Dream.

Dream.

Dreaming. Pete's eyes open to the grey light of the moon in the bedroom, casting impossible shadows and whispers along the wall. His thoughts and body are sluggish as he pushes himself into a sitting position. Everything is a shade fainter than when he had closed his eyes. Everything is a bit off, like the furniture has all been moved an inch to the left. The voices, too, have stopped, and Pete shoves his blankets away.

Certainly, he must be dreaming.

Pete rises from bed, eyes on the moon as it flies as no bird flies. Steadfast and hovering, eyes only on him.

Pete's feet land on the floor with a dull thud, his desire to explore the dreamworld growing at the sound. He turns with movements like a video game character, someone with no control of their own. He feels at the mercy of the dream he's awoken into. He feels like Alice through the looking glass, wondering which side she's on. He feels like Wendy gazing at the second star to the right, wondering if she can really fly.

Slowly, Pete makes his way to the desk, the soft sound of his own confident footsteps guiding him towards it.

Without time for blinking, he rummages through the pens and pencils he'd lined up before, tapping the pad of his finger against the tips and admiring the points. An alien feeling overcomes him as he lifts a newer pen, one still bleeding too much ink, and tests the tip. Unsatisfied with the result, he tosses it to the floor. It bounces once, twice, each sound twins, before landing on something with a more foreign sound.

It's something that has Pete turning his head with a happy noise, a noise like an infant seeing its mother. It's alien on Pete's lips but this is a dream, isn't it? There's nothing wrong with strange sounds.