General Fiction posted April 6, 2010 Chapters: 1 -2- 3... 

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Robes of scarlet turn white Sea of black now red

A chapter in the book Short Stories

The Red Sea

by smileycloud

This recurring dream of mine plagues my slumber rooms.  Music beckons me to dance the waltz of frivolity and freedom. Try as I might to skip playfully, my feet trudge across that vast, ever present, deep sea of ink black substance, like wading through a pit of sticky jello.

Peering down at my attire, gone are the bed clothes of my peaceful rest. The soft, youthful, almost childish garments, that just on this very night I had worn with such comfort and security. I am so sure it was tonight, yet it now seems so very long ago. They are gone, replaced with heavy red robes that drag relentlessly around my ankles, like prison chains restricting movement into small, awkward, spasmodic steps.

My voice screams inside my head, "I cannot dance in this! Stop the music! I implore you." Fear and hopelessness surround me. The question forms in my mind, "What is this pitch black mire I feebly attempt to dance in?" Still the music persists, luring me onward.

I can feel it with every fiber of my being; there's a promise in the atmosphere. A way out of this pit of despair. If only it was more tangible, I could reach out and grasp it. I am almost there, on the brink of escape. "Why can I not see it, why can I not reach my destination?"

The colors. I am now certain they are the culprits. I am now so feverishly aware that these dark shades are to blame for the stagnation in my progression through this nightmare and out to the other side. In my semi-conscious dream state, I summon all the will power which is stored in my subconscious. I focus, I desperately determine to lighten them. I must find a window. Must let the light and sunshine illuminate the way. Surely in the stark brilliant light of day, black could at the very least, turn to gray. These scarlet robes are pulling me down, down into a dungeon. I cannot prevent the impending fall into the this tar colored thick liquid hell.

I am catapulted from my world of visions and dreams like a cannonball back to the realm I thought I could trust. Yet, when I wake, there it is, lurking, a faintly disturbing presence intruding upon my saturated mind.

I walk through the walls of my sanctuary out into the world as I vaguely remember it to feel and be. Today; things are different, I am certain. The cool breeze seems to be whispering as it brushes over my skin like an artist making strokes with feathers on a canvas. The word "canvas" lodges in my throat. It will not budge. In a frenzied state of confusion my thoughts run riot. "Am I to paint? Such nonsense, I cannot even sketch with a lead pencil. And what is it I might endeavor to paint?"

I look around me and see the glorious picture of my world in all its vivid magnificent splendour. This masterpiece cannot be duplicated or outshone by someone so lacking in talent as I. I come to an almighty stunned standstill. Yes, it is true. Look, see how differently my eyes see my world today. It surely must have rained during the night hours; all around me everything appears so clean and freshly washed. Allowing my eyelids to fall gently over my eyes, I breathe deeply of the fresh crisp newness in the air invading my senses.

Reluctantly, I lift my lashes and I peer inquisitively into beaming smiling faces as people pass along my path. They could not be suddenly feeling so kindly toward me. Their smiles are never for me, only their scornful laughter, in response to my cutting disposition displayed across my brow in a disapproving frown. My hand instinctively brushes my brow, but fails to find the crinkled lines of my frown. In shock my palm slips down to cover my mouth in disbelief. I am smiling. And just what is it that my features believe I have to grin about? My life is one long tedious trek of struggle and strife. There is nothing to be grateful for, nothing that has come to pass in my miserable existence that could be portrayed in a pleasant expression upon my face.

It is that dream. That stupid festering dream. "Leave me now, I command you!" That is much better. Things appear more normal now. There, my world is just as it always has been. The dreary dull cloud is overhead, hovering, like an alien ship about to spew its green slime all over my life.

Dare I sleep tonight? This is the umpteenth time I have posed this ridiculous question since dusk descended. Of course I do. Dreams do not control me, I control them. Night terrors are created only in one's own imagination. My world is too full of disappointment to indulge in such luxuries as fantasy and childish make believe.

My weary head plunges into the depths of my pillow. I could swear a hand brushes across my cheek. Involuntarily, I reach up to take hold but it is not there. Elusive and out of reach. There is a strange but pleasant stirring in my chest. So very tired. I must sleep and rest.

Oh, that music. That beautiful tantalizing music playing through the corridors of my mind. The tune of an entire orchestra is billowing like the sails of a great ship through my body. Dance, I must dance. My every fiber desires to float across the dance floor with such amazing grace in tune to the beat of delirious pleasure. In desperate need to swirl and glide, I reach down to scoop up the skirt of my night dress.

The scarlet robe clings like glue to my feet as they are dragging in the muddy muck of this damnable black sea. A howl of terror escapes my tightly drawn lips. I must stop struggling. It is quicksand. I will go under. Down and down I go. The pit is swallowing me up. I cannot scream for help. The vile depths of my life are pulling me further into this vat of hate and disgust. The mush of the black sea is oozing all around me and squirting its evil over my head.

From deep in the bowels of my soul, I scream the words and squeeze them past my parched and restricted throat. "Oh my God in Heaven. Help me! Please have mercy and help me! Where are you my Lord? Don't let go of me. Pull me up, please save me!"

Soft, soothing music penetrates my consciousness. The hand is back upon my cheek. For the first time in my blind selfish life, I dared to risk rejection as I reach to grasp it. The fingers fold strongly around my hand. Up and up from the mire I float so effortlessly, like the black goo is transformed into crystal clear fresh spring water. My eyes close for a fleeting moment to savour the pure exhilaration of the freedom from my certain death.

A band of angels sing and clouds part overhead. I thrust forward on feet so light I feel I can fly. Reaching down for my skirt, I scoop up the hem of a sheer white gossamer gown and dance like a ballerina to the tune of release and thankfulness.

My robes of scarlet red have turned to snow white and the black sea flows in brilliant red, surging through my veins and propelling me across this heavenly dance floor as I miraculously dance in red.

I am truly dancing. Dancing like a new born child in my Saviour's precious Blood.

Playing with a Theme contest entry

Our sins are red as scarlet, washed snow white in the Blood of The Lamb.
Contest entry prompt required prose written in one of six themes;
Dancing in red is my entry in this great and challenging contest created by mmichelle07219 to whom I am very thankful for her and her daughters' initiative and imagination, time, energy and edification.
Have a smiley day and dance, dance, dance.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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