Hidden (Revised)

The wind carried shinning strands of auburn hair adorned with strings of pearly white beads and gold chains. Soft footsteps could be heard over the rustling trees. Step. Step. A delicately laced black gown fluttered around a girl’s form. The color protested against her pale ivory skin.1

Golden honey eyes watched booted feet penetrate the fabric of the dress, causing it to billow out near the bottom. The thin material rippled upwards, though it was cut short as it came to the top where the fashion of the dress became tight against her body. It was fitted to her perfectly, as if it was another layer of skin. The lace near the top looked as though it was an intricate tattoo across her breast, as well as at the top of her long gloves that reached up almost to her shoulders.2

From the deserted street lined with shops closed for the night, she approached a shabby building with mug of ale painted on its sign. She reached out her hand, thin fingers grasped the handle lightly and pulled open the door. Her eyes fluttered delicately as they adjusted to the new lighting, her pupils, like endless chasms of blackness, engulfed more of her brown irises. She walked proudly, with her head held high and back straight, although her efforts would be struck down if someone had looked into her eyes. They appeared to be dimmed and half-lidded, heavy with the soaring feeling within her. She smelled sweetly of perfumed opium and she seemed to leave trails of it when she walked towards the table near one of the darkened windows.3

She lifted her dress up slightly so it wouldn't become strained as she made to sit down in the crude chair. It creaked as it supported her weight, she twisted her legs under the table and crossed them, right over left. She placed her hands over the wooden table and laced her fingers together to hold them in place. She peered out of the smeary glass into the world of dark night from whence she came.4

Strange questions drifted lazily through her head, she wondered how the moon floated in the sky and never fell down. She thought about how her body would deal with more poisons and contemplated ordering a drink. She decided she didn't need liquor; she was already nearly caught up with it.5

She could see the green scales, yellow hide and spikes. It was flying so fast ahead of her, but she was closing the gap faster. Her eye lids slid slowly together and she could see the beast much more clearly. Chasing the dragon brought on by the opium, she reached out her hands as though to grab its' tail. This would have been a wild ride had it not been pulled just out of her reach before she could get a hold of it.6

She was grabbing at thin air, her hands making fists around nothing. With her eyes still closed, she had lifted her arms out and they were stretched, hovering a near foot above the table top. It would have been a very strange sight to behold, this young woman in very fine clothes in such a state. 7

Her eyes bounced open and her arms quickly, with a dull thud, fell back onto the table where they rested without movement. She smiled warmly to herself--she had almost got him that time. She would have to wait for another chance; it was too soon to attempt it again tonight.8

Nothing could disturb her contentment this evening. She seemed to be glowing with the last residue of her peak high, and it was fading, but ever so slowly. Her gentle gaze wandered around the room, her eyes sparkled dully where they caught light and though she wore no makeup, they were the source of her beauty. They came back to rest in her small area by the window and looked back out into the endless sky.9

The low buzz of the room was drowned out by her own thoughts of the fantasy world she escaped to. She drew her arms closer to her and lifted them to rest her elbows on the table. Her black gloves caught some splinters of the rough planks that made up the small surface in front of her.10

Her eyes glazed over and merely peered into nothingness. She rested her chin in her openly waiting palms. The luxuriant fabric rubbed her skin pleasantly as she dreamed. Her eyes remained open and the glossy, honey brown held no sign of life, only glinted and reflected light.11

Her hand trailed lightly over the silk blue waters of the hidden cove. The rock she knelt upon was mossy and sun-warmed against her skin. Small, colorful fish swam near the surface where her fingers floated, teasing them playfully. She watched them with a mother's caring demeanor as they darted in flashes of orange, yellow, green, and blue. Deep red sea weeds danced to the rhythm of the water, and a few shy creatures dwelt within. 12

In the distance, the waterfalls splashed and created a misty fog that gave the surrounding foliage a look of shimmering fresh, morning dew. Tall willows hid this cove from passersby and disguised it as a mere forest. Exotic flowering plants and frilly ferns surrounded the pool and added more pinks, purples, yellows, and bright blues to the atmosphere. Her hair held well despite the humidity that brought warm color to her usually pale skin.13

In only a white, silk under-garment, she twisted on the rock and dangled her legs into the cool waters. Tropical birds of paradise called out their beautiful songs to her as she lounged. The sun poured over her and she lay back against her rock. She closed her eyes against the dazzling rays of light as she rested her hands over her stomach and laced her fingers over the thin silk.14

She felt the slimy scales of the playful fish brushing against her bare feet and ankles. She hummed quietly a peaceful song and gently tapped her fingers along with it. A beautifully painted bird of orange and white flew over head. The shadow it cast made her open her eyes to see its' silhouette against the hot sun and cloudless blue sky.15

Glasses clattered and a chair scraped its way over the floor, someone shouted above the low buzzing of the room. She sighed deeply and smiled that warm, happy, sleepy smile as reality loomed at the end of the tunnel of her opium dreams. She didn't quite open her eyes as hope that the dream would return still lingered. After several moments, language became distinguishable against the meaningless babble and she had, once again, fallen from the top of the world and landed in this abysmal reality.16

She held tight to the last fading essence of her high. She looked out the window again and half hoped to see her forest-surrounded cove hidden among the fir trees. Although the only thing that answered her pleading, darting glances were clouds billowing around the pale, glowing moon against a creamy, dark blue.17

She lifted her chin from her hands and placed one of them with splayed, gloved fingers on the cold glass. Its' outline was nearly lost to the black night, but the reflection of herself and the rest of the room brought it back. She watched the people, sitting, chatting, drinking, and fighting. The whole world was in a pane of glass, dirt-smeared and dull. Her delicately shaped brows furrowed as she realized the irony. 18

The world was indeed dirt-smeared and dull, no matter how much she tried to escape from it, it caught up with her. No matter how close she came to catching her dragon or how many secret glades she discovered, she would always come home to this reality.19

With her curious questions and delusions out of reach, she needed a drink. She placed both hands palm-down on the edge of the wooden table and pushed herself up and out of her chair. Her lower legs and feet had fallen asleep and tingled unpleasantly as they carried her weight. She wobbled a bit on stiff knees and she leaned forward to straighten her dress. She smoothed out the wrinkles and tugged it impatiently down to a proper length, so it just brushed the floor and rested atop her boots. She stretched out her arms, delicately flicked her wrists, and pulled up each of the gloves in turn as they had slumped down.20

She walked towards the bar while holding her skirts up a few inches so she wouldn't step on them. She looked at some of the occupants of the room for the first time and smiled shyly, focusing back on her destination. When she reached the bar, she leaned against it and placed her finger tips on the edge. She ordered herself a strong whiskey and when the tender set it in front of her, she picked it up and dropped a few coins in its place.21

She carried the glass with sloshing, amber liquid back to her table and sat down again. She took a sip and it burned in her mouth and down her throat. The fiery, sweet flavor danced over her lips and onto her tongue, she closed her eyes and swallowed again. She opened them and showed that they were no longer glazed and lazy, but alert and cheerful. The liquor warmed her body and she was glad of its comfort.22

Her limbs loosened and she slouched in her chair, causing her dress to rise up to the middle of her shins. The feelings of desperate, lost hope had faded and were replaced by the thought of simply enjoying the rest of the evening. She swirled the whiskey in the glass and watched as the miniature whirlpool spun around, and around hypnotically inside it.23

Her stomach turned and bile coiled up her throat, helpless and slumped over on the floor of her filthy kitchen she released her sickness onto the wooden boards. She clutched her middle and leaned her back against the oak cupboards, the large cooking ladle that had made the blow to stomach lying near her feet. Her eyes stung with hot burning tears and her nose tingled painfully as she looked up at the man towering over her. He snatched up her thin wrist in a vice-like grip and pulled her from the floor. His face flushed red as he ordered her to clean up her mess before hurling her body back into the corner. He stormed out the door and out into the yard to escape the fumes and muddle of the house.24

She watched as he overturned the contents of the few iron pots on the small, crooked dining table, creating a stew of vapid foods and vomit to be absorbed into the wooden floor. The steaming smells reached her nostrils and she clutched her aching stomach, doubled over in her corner. Thick black smoke began billowing from the mouth of the clay potbelly stove; the only good pewter crock she owned was scorching its contents. She crawled out of her corner to pick off a rag from the hook on the oak-paneled wall and started to wipe up the slop from the stinking floor.25

The door of the tavern slammed shut as someone exited the premises. She blinked with a start towards the sound and made sense of it. She turned to examine some of the patrons she had not seen reflected in the window. As usual, all of the characters one would expect to find in a tavern--nothing of great interest. She knew it was too soon to take another trip, she thought about chancing it for this special occasion.26

She reached into a fold of her dress and pulled out an intricately carved, wooden pipe, also a match, and small cloth baggy with a long drawstring. She set these things before her on the table and stared at them. She brought one arm up and rested her elbow on the table. Leaning her head into her outstretched thumb and forefinger, she closed her eyes.27

Without the intoxicating poisons in her to take the place of her pain, memories swarmed onto their prey. She held so much inside that small eighteen-year-old body. The past was not a pleasant place for her mind to wander through.28

As it was customary, she married young and was unhappy for a long time with her considerably older husband. It was extremely lucky that she did not conceive any children, for she would not have been able to leave them behind when she ran from her home. She might still be there if she had.29

He had left many scars on her physically and mentally. Though some wounds had healed clean, many did not. Each scar that imprinted itself in her skin had a different story, but they would be gone with time. The pain that tormented her inside would never leave her and was only kept at bay by her artificially induced dreams and hallucinations.30

She sought to play a game of cat and mouse with her inner turmoil forever, it seemed. Only death would bring about a resolution for her. She could never bring herself to end her own life, though she sat for hours with a knife pressed against her chest. All she needed was a push that never came.31

An illusion of heaven was once described to her by her only true friends. She knew she would never enter this place when her welcomed death brought her forth for judgment.32

She held her head steady as she continued to stare at the three objects sitting harmlessly on the table. Harmless indeed, by themselves they would appear that way to anyone who did not know what was inside of the small, cloth bag. It should have been tobacco, but instead were small drops of sticky, brown, sweet-smelling opium—the friend of the depressed and forgotten. The world was full of these people and none of them would ever be saved by what they believed was the only thing that made life bearable. After family deserted, friends faltered, and lovers abandoned, there was nothing left but to look for an escape.33

No one ever really knows what they were searching for until they have found it. With that first inhaled puff of smoke, the chaos and pain of reality withers and dies. The day-dreams and hallucinations are an added bonus that makes going back easier to handle. For a while, there are a few delusional memories that are far more pleasant than the real ones that are kept pushed to the corners of the mind.34

Her eyes squinted shut at a sudden pang in her sleeping leg, she curled her toes against the stabbing needles and then let them relax. She could hear his angry voice pound in her eardrums, screaming, insulting and frightening. She stood trembling in the snow, undressed to nothing, in the dead of a winter’s night. Miles from other dwellings and surrounded by a mature forest on all sides, the only sounds came from the two of them. He circled her, telling her all the while she brought this on herself, for refusing him what was rightfully his. He spit on her, and she was grateful for the momentary warmth stinging the affected area, and disgusted at herself for welcoming it. She wrapped her arms around herself and bent at the knees, teeth chattering and skin goose-pimpled, attempting to retain body heat. 35

Their breath was visible like white steam issuing from their mouths and noses, and smoke from the chimney of their house. Her feet had melted outlines in the ankle-deep snow and were going numb with cold and near frostbite. He put his face inches away from hers and smiled like a jackal at his cornered prey. He grabbed a fistful of her tangled and matted hair and dragged her, stumbling over herself, back towards the door of the seemingly quaint country estate, never again to refuse the warmth of his bed.36

She brought the glass to her lips and drained the last of the whiskey she had nearly forgotten about. She placed the empty glass on the table and took up the bag and pipe. She pulled a string on the bag and the mouth opened. She tilted the contents into her hand and eyed the substance hesitantly. She placed it in the bowl of the pipe and pressed it in place with her index finger. She set the bag on the table and struck the match. She touched the flame inside the pipe and shook it out before tossing it away. She looked out the window into the night once more before she drew from the pipe. She looked away and closed her eyes as she let the deliciously sweet, poison air fill her lungs. She held it in as long as she could before exhaling with a sigh.37

This night was the three year anniversary of her wedding. She sought to completely drown out all thoughts of her past, it was over. She had a new life now, a free life. No longer controlled or beaten on a whim, she did as she pleased for the first time. It had been nearly a month since she ran away. Simple rights were still new to her and she tested their limits every day.38

Although she did not fear any one would come looking for her, she was still haunted by the last image of her husband’s face that was burned onto her brain. She had killed him before she left. He had caressed her cheek with a cruel smile and she had pushed a hairpin into his throat. That pure shock and surprise was evident in his cold eyes. There was no struggle, he simply grabbed her shoulder for support as blood dribbled from the hole in his neck and she pushed him off her; he was gone.39

She pulled again and again from the pipe, unable to feel the warmth it usually filled her with. She continued a cycle of pull-hold-out a few more times before she heard something clatter in the distance. She was no longer aware of what she was doing or where she was. She had gotten lost, she thought, on her way of slipping into a dream. 40

Her vision swam and she saw her pipe lying on the floor, still smoking. Her view was strange, everything was lying on its’ side. She felt something hard and rough against her face. She couldn’t move, but she could feel her body being shaken by an unseen force. She could hear voices, but no words she could understand. She could no longer see, or smell her sweet opium.41

She felt nothing, not the table under her head, the concerned man shaking her, the pain of her memories, or the reality of it all.42

There was nothing.43