I dreamt of him again last night. We were on a beach and he was dressed in white linens. A soft warm breeze chased the sand as he walked towards me. I told him that this was about as cheesy as it gets and he laughed at me like I was an idiot. He pointed at something behind me and when I turned the dream changed, but I thought I’d woken up. I was sitting at a desk with him looking at a large book. I studied his face which was now covered in old scars. He scowled at me, peering over the rim of his glasses and tapped the book that I was supposed to be reading. There was a picture at the top of the page, a picture of a beach on a sunny day. I suddenly felt dizzy and unhinged. What was real and what was the dream? I woke properly then, unsure of where I was until my flatmate cranked the tunes up in the other room. What are these dreams trying to tell me? What is the significance of the book?
Category: Characters
Gideon
Grave
Intimidating
Dedicated
Elluding
Ordinary
Nettlesome
He said on the phone to meet him in the bookshop. Had I known it was one of those trendy coffeehouse places, I might have suggested a quieter location. He’s always late. Always. My curiosity prevents me from getting up and leaving.
A young girl fetches my tea. It’s in one of those ridiculously large mugs with what looks like half a pint of milk in it. I narrow my eyes at her and grumble “I said black.” She visibly wilts and I look back to my book as she scurries away.
I’ve read this book countless times, but it’s the reason I’m here in this wretchedly pleasant place. This work must be completed. I study the tome translating each phrase as diligently as the first time I picked it up.
A young man brings another cup of tea, this time with no milk. I give him a vague nod as he places it on the table and cheerily apologises. He wanders off, muttering some sort of insult as I turn my focus to the task at hand.
I’m just grumbling to myself over the quality of the tea as the shop door swings open. In he breezes, bright smile and blonde hair streaming in the sunlight. “Hey!” He calls.
Tidal Wave
It was like standing on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean during at storm. She only needed to topple and fall and the currents would devour her. The crowd roared at her. She closed her eyes feeling the eddies and currents of the screams as the concert hall worked itself in to a frenzy. The band stood silent, poised and waiting in the darkness. The ocean subsided. The storm settled. The depths instinctively waiting for the land to scream back.
Kerang!
She struck a loud harsh chord, tearing through the silence. The ocean erupted again, wilding thrashing in answer to the taunt.
Kerang!
A satisfied smirk pulled at her mouth. Her gaze shifted, a low glance to the lead at her left. The spotlight struck him and he began to play. Intricate themes spilled from his guitar, his fingers dancing over the instrument with such skill and finesse , he was like a symphony all on his own.
She gave him several bars then brought in her base. Soft deep undertones echoed his theme at a lazier cadence. The high hat behind them ticked a hushed rhythm. The ocean swelled, a towering wave rushing towards the cliffs.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The bass drum thundered and the drummer rolled each percussion away. The ocean roared at the land and land roared right back
The Tale Of Gideon Graise
I hesitate to suggest he might be some sort of guardian angel. It’s a bit cliché to claim to have one. I hesitate to suggest he might just be an imaginary friend. Perhaps good thing that I don’t speak to him in words.
I do often wonder if he was my creation, though I somehow doubt it. I can’t really remember when he came along. Part of me knows he was always there, I just didn’t always know his name.
I’m not sure if I named him. He can’t have named himself, because he never speaks. Not with words, not with his lips. And yet, and yet he does speak. He speaks volumes.
Sometimes I wonder if it is his real name or if this is just the persona I’m able to understand him in. Perhaps he just is who he is and I shouldn’t question. Instinct tells me to accept who he is. This makes me smile, for who is he?
J.R. Nolan 