Light

She's sitting on a bench by an open window, her blue cotton dress fallen around her on the smooth red velvet.  Her eyes are downcast, barely visible under the thick locks of auburn hair blowing in the gentle breeze, framing her pale face.  Down one soft cheek, a single streak of different colored skin glistens wetly in the fading light. 

I'm standing directly in front of her, but she can't see me.  I don't exist in the room by any sense she would normally be aware of.  I can feel her grief, a leaden weight in the otherwise cheerful room.  I step closer and she moves, lifting her head very slightly, almost imperceptibly so.  I take another step, slow and deliberate.  Her hands are clasped lightly across her lap, resting on the fabric of her dress.  I reach out slowly, my fingertips brushing over the skin of her hand.  She bristles and sits back as if brushed by a live wire.  Her eyes raise towards me, unseeing.

A fresh tear slips onto the carpet below, splashing minutely against her flats.  I know she can't see me, can't sense me other than the jolt running from my fingertip into her arm.  Her eyes raise higher, seeing everything past me at the level of my chest until finally, her eyes meet mine.  I slip my fingers through hers, clasping her hand tightly.  Her face lights, the corners of her mouth lifting as if for the first time as she sees me without seeing me.  Fresh tears fall, a different sort.



I wake up, cold.