I went through my deleted scenes the other day, just for old times sake, and stumbled on quite a bit that I had forgotten about. It’s funny when you write your first draft, just how completely different it can be from your final story. Born in Flames was my first attempt at writing…like ever. And when I looked back at that very first draft, I shook my head in shame lol.
But I digress.
I have quite a bit of backstories for certain characters and other scenes that didn’t make the final cut at the last minute. There are some, like the one I will be sharing with you today, that I am a little sad I cut. But the good thing is I kept it. I know I’ve said before to keep everything you cut and this is exactly why. Though I will never use it for other novels, I will always have it to share with my lovely readers. So all hope is not lost.
Images of fire raced through my mind. I was somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, a place where I could finally be in a state of ease. A place where the boulder of lies could be lifted off my chest.
The fire ceased and I slowly opened my eyes, noting there was absolutely nothing surrounding me. I was standing in a white nothingness. I mean literally, there was nothing as far as the eye could see.
“I knew I was sick and twisted,” I said out loud. How could I portray loneliness as a comfort in my dream? Maybe it was my mind’s way of training itself into thinking being lonely is comforting. A survival instinct.
“You’re not sick and twisted,” floated the beautiful, haunting voice of my despair.
Well there you have it, proof that I am sick and twisted. This must be my way of torturing myself, I thought.
I stood there for a moment trying to come up with a good reason as to why I would do this to myself. Maybe for closure? That is if I had said everything I wished I would have said before he had the chance to run from me.
“Please turn around,” his pleading voice commanded as he gently tugged at my arm. The warmth of his touch illuminated my scarred heart. The lullaby played softly on the air, mood music between me and my fictional friend. I couldn’t help but wish deep down that he would really be real. That he had really come back for me.
No. This type of thinking will only make you pay when you wake up and find yourself alone again, I thought painfully.
But I did as he asked and turned to face him, my breath catching at the sight of his handsome face. It was as if there was a halo of light beaming down upon him, lighting up every chiseled, mesmerizing feature. His eyes sparkled above his perfect smile.
“I’m sorry I left you like that, but I had no choice,” he coaxed, leaning his head down to mine where our foreheads met. He wrapped me up in his arms. I don’t know why I let him, but I do know that the hole he left felt temporarily full, even if he was imaginary. But it wasn’t quite enough to curb the nerve he struck with his admittance of having no choice.
“Really?” I asked mockingly. “You had no choice in leaving the one person who has never failed you, behind?” I yanked myself free and stood back to glare up at him. Only this death stare wasn’t meant to be cute. It was meant to show the gut wrenching pain I had been put through since he left.
“You’re so called “mother” left you to grow up in a foster home, Fenn, never letting you know who or where she was,” I gritted out, my voice steadily rising. “How could you just drop everything, drop me for that matter, because she came calling out of the blue?”
He reached for me, but I yanked away. I wanted the ease and comfort of this dream to come back, but the pain had poisoned its way in, preventing me from holding back.
Forcefully, he pulled me into him, pressing my heated face against his chest.
Good, maybe the angry tears swimming in my eyes will burn him, I thought.
But I allowed myself to smell his familiar scent and felt the anger temporarily subside instead. He felt and smelled so real. And I wanted nothing more than for it to be true. For him to be here with me.
My body caved in against my mind’s command, relaxing into him. There was no point in guarding myself. This was going to hurt immensely in the morning.
“You have to keep searching, Rory. I know that now.” He let his head drop, eyes scanning the floor. With his voice a few octaves softer he continued, “Don’t let my stupidity put a halt to your life. It’s not worth it.” I think I heard him catch his breath as he broke off on that last sentence.
This was easy for him to say, but not easy for me to execute.
Does he not understand what it feels like to be left behind? How could he not, he’s a foster child, I thought, vibrating with hurt and anger.
He let his goofy grin try and push away my sad thoughts, and then looked behind us suspiciously. “I can’t stay in your dream, I have to go now. Remember you’re stronger than this. I won’t be able to come back for awhile, but just know that I’m always with you as corny as that sounds.” He nudged me with his elbow then pulled me into him.
I was so confused by what he was saying.
“I miss my friend,” I whispered desperately, not wanting to let him go again.
“I miss you more,” he replied in anguish. His words sounded like an apology.
Then I felt his lips brush my forehead as I closed my eyes and let myself really feel him. When I opened them again, he was gone.
Sitting there in my white nothingness, I thought about everything he had said. The dreams I had of Zordon needed to be pursued and I had to go on alone if I was going to accomplish this. I just hated having to do it alone. I guess it was time for me to grow up though.
Maybe I’m not so sadistic after all. My subconscious was just giving me a good kick in the ass.
There are a few more dreams that I will eventually share. But in the meantime, how about I leave you with a question?