COonarch COesscnger
THE CHOSEN ONE
By Lara Taylor
Staff Writer
Installment Two:
Corinne murmured in her sleep, her hair
sliding softly across the pillow as she
moved restlessly. She is here, thought
Corinne. How did she get in? She won
dered. How does she always get in?
Corinne’s dream self began to feel panic
set in. She was in her room, but it was dis
torted somehow, the edges blurred. There
was girl, a woman really, only she was much
shorter than Corinne. She didn’t know her,
but this woman was always here, always in
her dreams. Her back was to the open win
dow, and her knife glinted in the moonlight.
How did she get in? Corinne cast her eyes
wildly about for a way to escape, as the
woman stood there, smiling softly at her.
She had auburn hair. Suddenly the scene
changed with sickening swiftness, causing
Corinne's eyes to water and her hands to
grab for something to balance her. The
scene settled. TTie room was darker now.
The woman with the auburn hair was gone.
It was twilight outside, and Corinne hadn’t
turned any lights on. She wondered why
that was. As she started away from her bed
and towards the desk across the room,
Corinne heard a hiss. She froze. “Careful,”
said a hoarse whisper. Was it talking to her?
“Careful with ‘at one. She’s on the Path,‘at
one is,” the voice continued. Corinne
looked down at her feet. “Naw, not'AT
Path, ta udder one— Careful,” it repeated,
“she’s one o' them Christ Followers she is—
look at ‘at necklace she got on.” Corinne
grasped the delicate cross she always wore.
It had been her mother’s. Now she heard
shifting and creaking, coming from the
closet. Corinne slowly slid one foot back
wards, towards the bed. “Yeah, gotta be
real careful-like with one o' them,” a new
voice agreed. Their voices are awful,
Corinne thought in distaste, like nails on a
chalkboard. And the closet! Why did it have
to be the closet?? She wondered in despair.
She bit her lip. Her left hand retained its
grip on the necklace as her right groped
frantically for the bed. She was moving so
slowly, she was almost stopped. She hated
feeling helpless, but what could she use as
a weapon against who knew what? The
door squeaked ever so slightly as it inched
open. Corinne gulped. “Accept the gift,”
someone whispered in her right ear. She
gasped at the sudden close proximity, jerk
ing backwards, and lashing her right arm
out as if to strike at something. There was
no one there.There was a quick
shuffleshuffleshuffle sound from the closet
again, making Corinne whip her head back
around the other way. It was moving to
wards her in the dark! Corinne turned
swiftly, tripping on something that
shouldn’t have been there and was
Monday, October 11,1999 13
falling...falling...falling... Corinne sat straight
up in bed, panting and wide awake. Her
shoulder length hair was damp with sweat,
her mouth dry as cotton. She swung her
legs over the side of the bed, tumbling for
the bedside lamp switch. She leaned her
elbows on her knees, putting her head in
her hands. The dreams were coming more
frequently now. Her therapist told her to
concentrate on the feelings that the dreams
elicited, not so much on the content of the
dream itself Well, there was that woman.
She felt, not afraid, but intimidated and
wary. Who the heck was she? And what
was her significance? She must be symbolic
of something or someone else in my life,
Corinne reasoned. The voices coming from
the Closet had scared her. She darted a
quick look at her closet; it was firmly
closed. And the other voice, the third one,
it had startled her, seemingly coming out
of thin air. Accept the gift? Corinne won
dered. From who? What gift? She sighed
heavily.
A breeze blew gently across her
skin. Corinne shivered as goosebumps trav
eled up her bare arms. This sleeveless
nightgown is really too thin for Fall, she
thought idly. She heard a muffled thump,
and the soft whirr as her window shade
went up. Corinne stared in the direction of
her window. There was a silhouette there,
of someone perched on her windowsill! She
scrambled frantically back into bed, so that
her back was pressed firmly against her
head board. Her knees she drew up to her
chest, which felt like it was going to re
lease her painfully pounding heart at any
moment. The whole time, the silhouette sat,
unmoving. Most of its weight on its bent
left leg. It had its right arm propped casu
ally on its other knee. The wind stirred
again, and Corinne could see that the head
was not bald, as she had originally thought,
but instead, the hair was pulled back se
verely into a braid. It slid forward over the
woman’s shoulder with the force of the
wind. She swayed slightly. Such a little
woman, to fit on my window sill, Corinne
thought wonderingly. It’s her! She realized
with a jolt, it’s the woman from my dream.
“Well,” drawled the shadow,
“aren’t you going to invite me in? Her
voice was deep and sultry. Corinne hadn’t
expected it to be for some reason. She
hopped down from the window sill. She
stood with her feet apart and her hands on
her hips at the foot of the hed. She sud
denly looked like a giant. She was haltway
exposed by the moonlight filtering in
through the window. Corinne could see that
her face was sharply angled, but not in an
unattractive way. Her eyes were so green.
She flicked her braid neatly over her shoul
der.
“You!” Corinne blurted out.
“You shouldn’t leave your windows
open at night you know,” she continued,
“Someone could very easily get in,” she
pointed out.
“But I’m on the second floor!” Coriime
exclaimed. Then she clapped a hand over
her mouth in horror as she realized she had
just snapped at an armed woman who could
get into second story windows.
“First mie: never assume,” the woman
replied. “And that is the first of many les
sons, Chosen One.”
“Ummm, I’m sorry, but you seem to
have the wrong girl. Maybe you jumped
into the wrong window. How did you get
up here anyway?” She dared to lean for
ward slightly, craning her head towards the
window. Her eyes searched for a ladder,
but she couldn’t see anything like that. The
woman raised one delicately arched eye
brow.
“Blanchfield, Corinne? Approximately
five foot six, light brown hair, grey eyes?
No parents to speak of. Ron and Amy Win
ter, foster parents? That’s you, isn’t it?” she
asked, continuing as if Corinne hadn’t spo
ken.
Corinne’s eyes were as round as sau
cers. She felt the sheet she had had been
clutching slip a little as she stared.
“What do you want?” she whispered.
The woman shmgged. “How ‘bout first, we
introduce ourselves, and then we talk for a
while?”
“Well, you seem to know me pretty dam
well! And as to talking, I don’t know about
that,” Corinne said suspiciously. “Why
should I? You just broke into my foster
parent’s home, and I am supposed to talk
to you as if you are a reasonable person?
How do I know you’re not crazy? Or that
you’re not going to hurt me?”
“Lots of questions. Why don’t we just
start with the basics? Hmmm?” the woman
asked. “My name is Gwendolyn Falcor,
daughter of Lom, heir to Aurora.” She
paused. “But you. Chosen, can call me
Gwen,” she added.
“Daughter of? Heir to? Where are
YOU from??” Corinne asked, “and you can
call me Cory,” she added begrudgingly.
“I’m from the other side of the Gate.
Suffice it to say, it’s a long story. Let’s start
with why I am here,” she said, moving for
ward as if to sit on the bed.
“No offense, but I’d rather you didn’t,”
Corinne said, holding up her hands palms
out, and shaking her head. Gwen shrugged
again and crossed the room in three quick
strides to grab the desk chair. She situated
herself at the foot of the bed, with the chair
turned around so she could sit on it back
wards.
“Well, I suppose I should begin at the
beginning,” began Gwen with a sigh.
To be continued in the next issue.
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CREATIVE CORNER
The Dream Eater
His long pink snout,
Accents his fuzzy green ears—
He sucls up your nightmares
And chomps on your fears.
Put him in your sock drawer,
And when you're fast asleep—
He gobbles up those monsters.
Whether they hop, slither or creep.
By Lara Taylor