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It Is Something That Is Not Air

Novel By: zadudet1
Fantasy



Rachael awakes from a long and deep coma, but she remembers nothing. Not just memory, but everything. Even color is an anomaly to her. No one can seem to teach her except a voice. A voice that only speaks to her in her sleep.

Favorite quote ever: What is red?
It is something that is not white. View table of contents...


Chapters:

1

Submitted:Jul 18, 2011    Reads: 24    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   


An: The title is a work in progress so please don't hate on it. ^_^

I'm cold... Then I sleep. Hungry, but still I sleep. When will I awake from this never ending dream? I wouldn't mind it, but the dream is empty. The dream has no light, no feeling. The dream is empty. White spreads across my vision. An eternity passing and nothing changes. When will I be allowed to see something warm, something new?

Suddenly, I feel something different. It falls softly through the white surroundings. Has the dream finally come to a change? Cold and wet on my cheek. What was that? I soon feel more. I can't see the cold substance fall, but it must be there. I feel it. "What is it?" I ask holding a hand to the sky.

The sky answers, "Snowflake."

I don't understand, so I ask, "What is snowflake?"

Once more the sky answers, "It is something that is not rain."

Confused again I ask, "What is rain?"

The sky answers with something I finally understand, "It is something that is not air." Air, air is all I have ever known. Then something else new appears. It is tall and vast. Strange protrusions come from it and upon them are oddly shaped objects. It is more color than I have ever known. It is not white.

"What is this?" I ask quietly, knowing the sky will hear me.

"Tree."

"What is tree?" I ask shivering. The snowflakes make me cold.

"It is something that is not ground."

"What is ground?" I ask almost calmly. There is no need to be confused. The sky will explain.

"It is something that is not air." Back to air. It makes sense. It is not air.

"What is this?" I ask, plucking one of the odd objects from the tree.

"Leaf."

"What is leaf?"

"It is something that is not grass."

"What is grass?"

"It is something that is not dirt."

"What is dirt?"

"It is something that is not air." Air, always back to air. Air makes sense. I know air. More trees appear, trees filled leaves. Then I see another person, but he does not look like me.

"What is that? I ask pointing.

"Man." The sky replies more quietly than before.

"What is man?"

Still quiet, "It is something that is not woman."

"What is woman?"

"You are woman," the sky replies. I am woman? He is man. That makes sense. He holds in his hand an object that glints against the white air, the white ground.

"What is that?" I ask quietly. I don't know why, but I feel weary of the man.

"Knife," the sky calls out.

"What is-" Before I can finish my sentence, the knife plunging deep inside me. Sharp... The man runs and I fall to my knees. A warm liquid spills into my hand. "What color is this?" I ask my breath is sharp.

"Red."

"What is red?" I ask feeling something I have no name for.

"It is something that is not white." White, I know white. Everything has always been white.

Clutching at where the red comes from, I ask, "What is this?"

"Pain."

"What is pain?"

"It is something that is not pleasure."

The man is still running. I can hear him. "What did he do?" I ask, knowing his actions must have a name.

"Murder."

"What is murder?"

"It is something that leads to death."

"What is death?"

"It is something that is not living."

"What is living?" I ask, growing more and more tired as the red spills between my fingers. I fall forward onto the white ground just before the sky answers.

"It is something you must do now." Then, I awake.





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