They Say What They Say

Title: Falling

Author: Eliza J. Bailey

Rating: G

Summary: Sometimes we dream that we fall. Or are we really falling as we dream?

Note: Not my first harsh Realm story and not my last, but the first one I've posted to eljay.

I'm falling. I know I am. I can feel it. Falling through complete and utter darkness. No light. No end. No tunnel.

It's one of those dreams. One of those falling dreams people get when they're worried or stressed about something.

Am I worried? Am I stressed? I guess you could say I am. And I'm falling.

I used to get them all the time when I was younger. Usually right before an important test or a football play-off. But I grew out of them. At least that's what my mom said. I never got them in Bosnia. You'd think I would. Living in a war zone is hardly a picnic. If I wasn't stressed then, I don't know when I was.

But now I'm laying here and I'm falling. So I do the only thing I can think of. The only thing that can give me comfort.

I scream your name.

"Sophie."

Can you hear me? I'm not sure that you can so I scream again, louder this time.

"Sophie."

Still no answer.

Please say that you hear me. Please answer. I need so much to hear your voice, to know that you are listening out for me.

"SOPHIE!"

My eyes fly open and I see you there. You're sitting under a tree and the sun is shining. Your hair is long, the way you used to wear it when we first met, flowing over your shoulders and down your back. You're wearing your favourite blue sweater and that skirt I like. The one you think makes your ass look fat. But I still like it. Your feet are bare and

I can see you wiggling your toes in soft grass.

You look in my direction and you smile. I take a step forward, holding out my hand so I can pull you to your feet and take you in my arms.

"Sophie," I whisper and your smile grows wider. You open your arms to accept my embrace and I take another step forward.

He has dark hair, this man in your arms. He is taller than me and heavier. I cannot see his face. I do not want to. I don't want him to be there. Why is he there?

Why is he in your arms and not me?

Why is your head resting on his shoulder and not mine?

Why are his lips on yours and not mine?

Who is this man?

"Sophie."

You ignore me and continue to kiss this man.

"SOPHIE!"

Your lips leave his and you look at me again.

"You went away Tom, what do you expect?" you say.

"You said you'd wait," I say, my voice oddly clam and self-assured.

"You fell Tom. What do you expect?"

I take another step forward, determined to wrest you from this strangers arms, but I am falling. I scream your name again, but no sound comes from my lips.

I'm just falling.

"You should have trusted me."

I turn my head and Mel is standing there, dressed in the clothes he wore last time I saw him in the Real World.

"I could have helped you Tom. You should have listened to me," he says with a smirk.

"You shot Sophie."

"She wasn't real."

"She was real to me!"

"She married me."

"She was my fiancée."

He shrugs. "What can I say? She fell."

I'm falling. It's dark and there is no wind and I'm falling.

"Are you The One?"

The woman gives me a hopeful look, like I'm the answer to all her prayers.

"I'm not sure. I need to ask my friends."

I look around for them, but they are nowhere to be seen. I know they were here just a minute ago. I saw them, standing in the corner. Michael's eye's were very blue and Florence was smiling as he whispered something in her ear.

Were they talking about me? I wanted to ask but was scared of the answer.

Where are they now?

Why did they leave?

Don't they know how much I need them?

"Your friends are gone," the woman says, stating the obvious. "You fell."

"But they said they'd wait."

"For The One," she says. "Do you really believe that you are?"

Am I falling more slowly than last time, or more quickly? It seems slower. And faster. Is that even grammatically correct?

I'm falling and I'm thinking about grammar. I must be mad.

I don't know.

All I know is I'm falling.

"You fell Tom," says Mrs. Resnick, my third grade teacher. "I told you not to go so fast. Remember slow and steady wins the race."

"Yes Mrs. Resnick."

Is this a race? Nobody told me. Does patience always win out over speed? But the hare is faster. Why shouldn't it win? Why should the tortoise have all the fun?

Go figure.

"Will you fall for me?" The sun is shining of his bald scalp and I can see the gleam in his eye. "I gave Michael the same chance. Will you throw it away like he did?"

"What chance is that?" I ask, curious to know the answer.

"To stop falling."

I'm confused. "But you asked me if I'd fall for you."

"There is falling and then there is falling. One does not necessarily emulate the other."

"I think I'd like to ask Michael."

"But he fell. What do you need him for?"

I can feel the wind now. It's brushing against my face as I fall. I've decided I don't want to stop. I like falling.

At least it has a purpose.

An end.

Because sooner or later I'll hit bottom and I know that then I'll stop falling.

And after that?

Well, after that there is only one thing for me to do.

Find my way up again.

And next time, I won't fall.

Fin