Etude 1 (Continued)

After that was Victorian Literature, and then an hour free until the dining hall opened for dinner. Sarah went back to her dorm room, thankful that her roommate had a late-afternoon class. She'd dozed off in Victorian Literature, too which was usually her favorite class, but she just hadn't been able to keep her eyes open. She still felt muzzy, and her eyes were throbbing. "Time for a nap, I think," she said to the room. She set an alarm, got into bed, and fell asleep. Her dreams were random mutterings of images, and then a voice calling her name.
"Sarah? Sarah, dinner's almost over. Were you going to eat?"
"Huh? Wha?" She turned over to see her roommate, Maggie.
"It's ten minutes before dinner closes."
"Oh. Uh. Okay. I'm getting up." She checked her alarm. "Maggie, did my alarm go off?"
"I don't know, I just got back."
"Okay." She scrambled to get her shoes on, grabbed her jacket, and walked out into the wind.

...


I must be more tired than I thought. That's the third time I've slept through my alarm this week. She stuck her hands in her pockets, trying to warm them. I wish I didn't feel so tired all the time. It's harder and harder to wake up in the mornings, and it's harder and harder for me to fall asleep at night. It's almost as if I'm scared to fall sleep sometimes... She let out a little sigh and rubbed her cheek. And I bet there'll be hardly any food left at the dining hall. Cold potatoes and congealing gravy on rubbery meat. Joy. Why can't anything go right? The wind whistled past her with a muted whispering sound, as if murmuring in sympathy. At least it's not raining anymore. She hurried her steps until she reached the dining hall.
Dinner was not as bad as she'd feared, but it was still unappetizing. She forced herself to eat, unenthusiastically, until just the sight of the chicken in sauce nauseated her. She stopped eating; her plate was still more than half full. I guess I'm not that hungry. She sat there, staring at the food for a little while longer. She poked the chicken with a fork; the sauce had congealed over it in a goopy mess. Okay, I'm definitely not hungry. She got up and deposited her tray on the belt. She headed back to her room.
Then there were hours of bashing her head against the latest set of Econ problems. Then the sun rose, and then there was sleep. And dreams.

The dream started innocently enough. No biting wind, no empty plain, no angry sky. Just a clearing in a forest, brilliant green with the flush of spring. Butterflies, sparkling and glittering with iridescent wings. She was so tired; she just wanted to relax and lie down and not have to worry about anything ever again. She sat down on the grass, grateful for its softness, and leaned against a tree, watching the butterflies dance. She didn't know when they changed, but the butterflies became harsher, less colorful. Metallic. And there was a low drone that grated on her ears as they continued to dance. A wind began to blow, bringing with it a smell of copper and fire. The butterflies fluttered about, wings gleaming. They started suddenly, with the flash of thousand small mirrors, and flocked together at the opposite end of the clearing. Some inner warning made her stand, and look behind her.
Along a path into the forest, she could see a light. Even behind the trees, it was so bright it hurt her to look at it. It was coming for her, slowly, without haste. She started to run. The butterflies followed her, the eyes on their wings glowing a sullen blood-red. The seasons changed from bright spring to blasted autumn to forsaken winter. Suddenly, she was running in the foothills of a mountain range. She slowed down to climb over the rocks, trying to concentrate on not being found. She didn't know what would happen if the light reached her. All she knew was that she had to get away from it, away from its blinding brilliance, away from the searing tendrils that ever reached for her. It was catching up.
The butterflies had disappeared at some point, taking with them the last vestiges of color. She felt suddenly blind, looking at the boiling gray sky and muted gray tones of her skin. She looked behind her again, and saw the light calmly gliding over the rocks. She kept climbing, now up a vertical stone face. She crept a glance below her. The light was floating upwards after her. Its tendrils had multiplied and were now a swarming mass that made her eyes throb. The next rock she grabbed crumbled in her hand, and she started to slide downwards. She screamed. There was a dizzying wrench, and she was climbing downwards, with the light floating above her.
Another rock crumbled beneath her foot, and she began to slide downwards again, scrabbling at the surface for handholds. She caught herself before she reached the bottom, but as she looked around, she realized she was trapped. She had entered a narrow valley that stretched on farther than she could see. There was no exit from it, nowhere out except up the other wall. The light was closer than it had ever been, flooding the valley with its day-like brilliance. It was too bright now to look at directly, and it was coming closer. If it reached her, she would be blinded. She scrambled away from it. And then, from the corner of her eye, she saw a cave. Its mouth yawned open, perfectly black and still, a welcome refuge from the glare surrounding her. She ran into it, tripping over a rock and falling into the cavern. Darkness swallowed her. There was nothing more.