Fantasy-Mystery
°*°
Say 'black apple' and those could be your last words.
In a world where mythical creatures coexist in serenity, black dreamers are an enemy, but according to Carmiabell's History teacher they are extinct. She couldn't be more wron...
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Carmiabell hated Mondays for some reasons; one, it was her detention teacher's sir name; two, Damon Adams, a tenant that lived in her head for free, hardly showed up at school—guess being brought up in a family that owned forty percent of the school property had its advantages; three, her luck appeared to be in hangover mode; and after all that she had to meet boiled cabbages on the dinner table.
Whoever made the dinner plan must have had something against her. Who still ate boiled cabbages in the century?
Call it pride, but she was going to add sleeping hungry to the-things-I-hate-about-Mondays list.
"Carmiabell Goldmoon Locks!" She knew she was in trouble any time when her mother called her by the three names. "Are you familiar with the concept of time?!" She ranted pointing her index finger through the kitchen window.
Fortunately or unfortunately, their house was located up a hill and their view of the closest liquid-timer was impeccable.
The people of Southern Ellialand preferred a green liquid—which was fine by most—where every moment that passed a drop of it landed in the globe shaped orb from a tubing atop.
It was set up above a pillar shaped like a tree trunk where gnarling branches crept around its skirts, cradling it in comfort.
The liquid had filled to quarter way, threatening to surrender her late for school in a few drops.
She needn't wait for another word from her mother's lips.
She leaped into the dining room grabbing an exaggerated bun and ran for the parlor where she had tossed her bag the previous week.
She was sure there were more blue flowers at school but for her own safety, she plucked some blue poppies from a flower pot on the parlor table and plunged them in her black hair like a mental lunatic.
As a blue dreamer, also known as blue flower, she couldn't keep away from blue flowers for long. She wasn't sure how long but whispers had it that the longer one stayed away from his or her source of energy, lanera, he or she became infirm, otherwise known as dreamless.
It started from the color of the eye—where dream's colors were believed to be harbored—which turned into a complete snow-white. Full body paralysis took over insidiously after that, and the next thing was one remaining only but a story to be narrated.
Who knew? Those were just rumors.
Ellialand was full of flowers, so it was almost impossible for her type to perish due to lack of a marching lanera, but there was no better assurance than carrying the flowers for herself.
She was one of the luckiest dreamers—though she didn't see it that way—picture red dreamers; they couldn't just walk everywhere with fire. It was an assault on jelly and ice pops.
"Don't forget the trash bag," her mother shouted from the other end of the kitchen.
Almost forgot; taking out trash was another major reason she hated Mondays.
