Saturday, January 22, 2011

Emilia Flowers

“My name is Emilia Flowers,” she licked her cherry-red lipstick covered lips as she whispered into my ears, “and I never was supposed to exist.” A strong metal object jabbed itself into my temple as I sat on a wooden chair. “Tell me, Vatche, why?”

“Pointing a gun at me, isn’t going to help you, Ms. Flowers,” I said as I realized that once again, one of my dreams has taken a wrong turn. One of my characters escaped the mental cabinets of my working mind and now was in one of my dreams threatening to kill me.

“Please, call me by my first name. Emilia,” she let the gun slide down slowly from my temple to my cheek. The cold metal of the gun sent shivers up and down my spine causing my whole body to shiver.

“Okay, Emilia. In all seriousness, I don’t know anything about your story or why you don’t exist. You’re just another character and right now, I’m busy studying for school, I can’t be working on your story all the time,” I pleaded to her as I realized that we were in a room filled with mirrors. I saw my reflection about a hundred times in the circle of mirrors and Emilia’s reflection was also by my side.

Emilia was a tall, skinny pale woman. She wore a tight, sparkly silver outfit that shined in the light above. “Well, maybe it’s just time for you to have a little break from your study time.” Her arm straightened as the gun was once again pointed at my temple.

I noticed something shivering in the mirror. My own body. A gun was pointed at me by one of my own creations. It’s almost like when Frankenstein’s monster turns on Dr. Frankenstein, except Emilia was a gorgeous woman and all her disgusting parts were inside her.

“I’ll work on your story, Emilia.”

As the gun lowered, I sighed.

“Really?” She squatted to face me eye-to-eye. Her eyes were cold, yet fierce. They were a golden-brown and her hair was a white-blonde that was cut short. “You really will?”

“I don’t know who you are, Emilia. In all seriousness, I never know who any of my characters are until I start working on their stories. I--”

“I want my story to be ahead of everyone else’s,” she interrupted.

I don’t think I had much choice right then and there. “Um, sure. Okay. I want to let you know that we’ll take your journey together. We’ll find out why you weren’t supposed to exist and--”

Just then she stood up with a smile and two ghostly, white hands came out of the darkness slowly and snatched her. The gun in her hands fell to the floor. One of the hands tightened their grip on her mouth, so that she wouldn’t scream. The other hand almost wrapped around her small body. The hands dragged her back to the darkness and her eyes were in fear. Emilia, the hands, and the darkness became one giant, black nothing as I sat on the wooden chair surrounded by mirrors.

“What am I going to do?”

And the darkness answered in Emilia’s voice, “Save me! Save me from him. There’s a reason why I’m not supposed to exist.” I heard struggles in the darkness but I was powerless to move. “Find that reason. Find my reason to exist!”

The dream ended abruptly and I woke up in my dorm room in a sweat. I went toward my laptop, opened it up, and began to write in order to save Emilia. I needed to find her reason, because she was my character and I was her only hope.


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