Sunshineverse - Prose
Jan. 27th, 2015 07:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mokutonnoHe was here again.
The glass archway of the tunnel rose before him, so much taller than Yamato recalled, the reflections cast in golds and greys in the receding colours of oncoming twilight.
It stretched ever onwards, lit by the unnatural glow of the surrounding water and shifting with the rippling patterns of some unseen current.
Damp stone underfoot, seeping an unforgiving chill into bare toes, smaller than he remembered, and creeping into the uncovered skin of his arms. He was walking, passing under the archway and treading the worn path, seemingly unheeding of the growing panic that gripped his heart.
Shapes moved beyond the glass, looming up from the gloom for an instant, before sinking back beyond the glow that lit the water and remaining amorphous beyond what he could see.
His pulse beat chaotic with each step, with each rise and fall of shadow and yet, his progress remained steady, pacing further into the tunnel under glass. Each breath became labored, cacophonous in the quiet as he gasped, but couldn’t fight the progress he made ever onwards.
Finally he stumbled; skirting the edge of a circular gap in the stone and caught himself against the glass, his hands flailing, small and so very pale against the deeper hue of the water beyond.
A reflection, long hair, large eyes, himself but not his current self, rose to meet him from the glass, hands out and palms flush to halt their collision.
The current shifted, the darkness loomed and tendrils lapped at the glass, curling around his mirror image; red stained indigo in the waters depths, rising to the surface and replacing his reflection with softer features, lax in sleep but no less dear to him.
Yukimi.
The name rose with a yell, echoing hurt and deafening in the enclosed space. Yamato covered his ears, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the horror and the sound and took a step back into nothingness.
The stone fell away, leaving only the lukewarm embrace of the water and the cool touch of glass.
Pain along his back, his shoulders and that taste, nondescript but chemical, flooding his mouth and lungs.
Glass under pale hands, a single, lit tube at the belly of the lake.
Alone.
Yamato awoke with a cry, clawing at the covers as if to tear himself free of the clinging feel of containment and stumbled to his feet, still dazed and half asleep.
Silence greeted him, but it was the busy silence of a much loved space; the creek of floor boards underfoot, the soft light of street lanterns, the warm smell of cedar and cotton, the scents of home.
He stood, panting and bathed in sweat, cataloging every sense of safety before sinking to the floor. Curled loosely on his side, the confines of the bed too much to handle, Yamato breathed.
A dream-
in.
-Just a dream.
out.
Focus-
in.
-Breathe.
out.
Just a bad dream.
The glass archway of the tunnel rose before him, so much taller than Yamato recalled, the reflections cast in golds and greys in the receding colours of oncoming twilight.
It stretched ever onwards, lit by the unnatural glow of the surrounding water and shifting with the rippling patterns of some unseen current.
Damp stone underfoot, seeping an unforgiving chill into bare toes, smaller than he remembered, and creeping into the uncovered skin of his arms. He was walking, passing under the archway and treading the worn path, seemingly unheeding of the growing panic that gripped his heart.
Shapes moved beyond the glass, looming up from the gloom for an instant, before sinking back beyond the glow that lit the water and remaining amorphous beyond what he could see.
His pulse beat chaotic with each step, with each rise and fall of shadow and yet, his progress remained steady, pacing further into the tunnel under glass. Each breath became labored, cacophonous in the quiet as he gasped, but couldn’t fight the progress he made ever onwards.
Finally he stumbled; skirting the edge of a circular gap in the stone and caught himself against the glass, his hands flailing, small and so very pale against the deeper hue of the water beyond.
A reflection, long hair, large eyes, himself but not his current self, rose to meet him from the glass, hands out and palms flush to halt their collision.
The current shifted, the darkness loomed and tendrils lapped at the glass, curling around his mirror image; red stained indigo in the waters depths, rising to the surface and replacing his reflection with softer features, lax in sleep but no less dear to him.
Yukimi.
The name rose with a yell, echoing hurt and deafening in the enclosed space. Yamato covered his ears, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the horror and the sound and took a step back into nothingness.
The stone fell away, leaving only the lukewarm embrace of the water and the cool touch of glass.
Pain along his back, his shoulders and that taste, nondescript but chemical, flooding his mouth and lungs.
Glass under pale hands, a single, lit tube at the belly of the lake.
Alone.
Yamato awoke with a cry, clawing at the covers as if to tear himself free of the clinging feel of containment and stumbled to his feet, still dazed and half asleep.
Silence greeted him, but it was the busy silence of a much loved space; the creek of floor boards underfoot, the soft light of street lanterns, the warm smell of cedar and cotton, the scents of home.
He stood, panting and bathed in sweat, cataloging every sense of safety before sinking to the floor. Curled loosely on his side, the confines of the bed too much to handle, Yamato breathed.
A dream-
in.
-Just a dream.
out.
Focus-
in.
-Breathe.
out.
Just a bad dream.
