The first time that Alyxa went out it was like the light had left the room. Morpheus hovered. One might have called it the pacing of a god, but since he did not understand impatience, he did not think of it as pacing. Everything was new. Everything was interesting. He made the fluorescent lights change colour, he made the fire in the stove dance around in circles. Everything was beautiful. Everything was real. The only trouble was, Alyxa was not in the house.
“I have to go out,” she had said.
“‘Out’?” he had asked, taking her hand lightly in his.
“Out,” she had repeated, “you know, out of the house? I have to visit with some friends.”
“Friends? As in other people with whom you share a human bond, connection.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Oh.”
So she had left him, to ponder the meaning of ‘friends’, and ‘out’. Humans were strange creatures, even the ones that had some small understanding of Réveille. Why was it that they bonded each other? He had seen their vast ability to love, to attempt understanding, but in reality they were all alone, each isolated like their own little pockets of dreams and nightmares, occasionally brushing past each other and sharing the most common elements of their lives: their hopes for roughly the same things, their actions of roughly similar lives. It seemed almost pointless, but at least here he could touch things, bend things, move things, be things. That he had to share this existence with humans, it was a small price.
Alyxa Fairchild had come into his world accidentally, but then Dreamwalkers were a rare commodity, for any deity. He considered finding her, to see what these ‘friends’ were like. Were they like her? Or he could avoid the humans altogether. He needed nothing.
No comments:
Post a Comment