Tag Archives: Text of Lex

Dream in Color


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Scientifically, dreams are supposed to be in black and white, the color completely drained from the story being told in your own mind. My dreams are never in black and white. I have more colors in my imagination than I have ever been able to find or recreate. I feel my dreams in my heart and on my skin and they linger with me for days at a time, and some even stay with me for years. I have grown accustomed to these dreams and have fallen for their adventures. The dream I have chosen to share with you now has been with me for 10 years.

Her eyes flutter open heavily, the weight they held was so immense that she thought sleep would take her again. She fought the urge to allow herself to sleep when she realized that she was not in her bed. In fact, she wasn’t even indoors. As the thought occurred to her to feel frightened, she couldn’t. Her heart remained steady in her chest and her breathing calm.

The chill of the night air swept over her skin and the grass beneath her head glowed with the soft light of the lanterns above her. She was surrounded by bushes of roses of any color. Not just every color, but colors that she had never seen before. The roses were such a deep purple that they nearly glowed black, or a red that shined gold, and a blue that sparkled with stars.

She sat up slowly, stretching her arms into the air over her as she inspected the garden around her. The sky was gone, hidden by a glass surface that shared the galaxy beyond her world. As her arms drifted back to her sides she let her legs dangle off of the soft grass platform that had held her sleeping form and slid the extra few inches to the ground to stand.

The large square cobblestones beneath her feet were so meticulous that they must have been hand made. Kneeling, she realized there were words inscribed within the stone, her fingers grazed the engravings and felt the smooth surface of a gloss finish over each stone within reaching distance. The words read her dreams, her wishes, her hopes, and none of her fears.

“I would never want you to fear this place.” A deep melodic voice came near her and his soft footsteps echoed along the stones. She looked up at him and slowly stood to inspect the speaker. His eyes were a kind sea blue and his short light blonde curls were a contrast against the black button up shirt that he wore. He was slender but obviously fit with regal high cheekbones. “I am not afraid.” She whispered. She checked her heartbeat in her chest and though it was now racing it was not fueled by the adrenaline of fear. She knew she was happy to see him, though she could not remember him.

He offered his arm to her and she slipped her hand through and cupped his forearm, his free hand protectively resting over her hand. The warmth of his skin chasing away the chill of the air. She looked up to him then and saw that while he was kind he was sad. A sorrow beyond anything she had ever felt threatened to destroy her just at the look in his eyes. He smiled softly, lifting the pain from his eyes and led her through the garden and the colors grew brighter at their approach. Brilliant, unimaginable beauty, bloomed before her. The smile she felt pulled from her heart, deep within her soul.

They walked in the glory of this world silent, but it was a content silence. Words were not something they needed. She knew, as if she had always known, they could spend an eternity in complete silence and always know everything of one another. His hand gently pressed more firmly against hers and it told her that he was pleased by her reaction to the garden. It had been created for her, nurtured and perfected with a never ending love, for her. The stones were created at the birth of her desires, and the colors were born of her imagination, the roses nurtured from her heart and fed by her passion.

He turned so they would face each other. After hours of spending silent time together, “It’s time for you to wake now.” His voice was a sad caress, loving and beautiful but full of terribly sorrow. She rested her head against his chest and whispered, “I want to stay…” His hand brushed through her hair, never tangling and always comforting. “Come here when you wish, love. Just think of your garden and you’ll be here, but for now, you must wake.” She looked up to meet his eyes, his hands moving to rest gently along the sides of her face. He brushed her lips lightly with his own.

A click always sounded just before the stereo would kick on, and for the life of me I never understood why that would always be what would wake me up, and not the music that followed. I slipped from my bed and proceeded throughout the day with a heavy heart. I think I knew it the moment I woke, or even within the dream, that to this day, and no matter how much I wish it, I have never been able to return.
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Filed under Kindnapped by Imagination, Self Ramblings, Short Stories

Book Review of Honor Among Thieves by Elaine Cunningham


I had the opportunity last month to have a chat with and take advice from some of the best writers out there. One of the most prominent things they all told me was “Write every day, if you can’t write, read, and read often and consistently.” I’m now on my third book since this advise was given. I took this advise very seriously, since I myself dream of being a real writer and sharing my stories in paper form with the world, and I have come to the decision that I will start writing full reviews of these books. In an attempt to expand my writing skills and hopefully get back on board with what you all expect from me, and what I expect from myself.

Unfortunately, my first review was a true dumbfounding experience. I can honestly say I may have lost something of myself by finishing this book. Which is such a disappointment, Elaine Cunningham, a very successful fantasy author actually wrote this book. I even suspect that she may have really written this book when she was 15 and only just decided to share it, claiming she wrote it much later on in life. Oh Elaine, I wish you hadn’t.

ImageI didn’t enjoy much of this book. The story is confusing and a lot of the time I found myself turning back to previous chapters to re-read something, for clarification and it was still unclear.

This book felt like an unfinished manuscript. Words were duplicated, jumbled, or incorrect all together, misspellings, and incoherent verbiage made this a difficult read, at best.

Did Vishni throw the dagger into the ocean? Because I read that she did, and yet it’s with them in the end. At what point did you find out the big geared secret about Honor, because I must have missed this startling realization until Fox is explaining it to the others. It is no doubt why these books are e-read only, they’re unfinished and rushed and the plot was not fully thought through.

I can tell there were some worthy ideas in there but they were not implemented. It is almost as if she had an idea, a brilliant idea of cons, mischief, and cleverness, and then forgot it half way through.

Ernest Hemmingway once said “The first draft of anything is shit”, and I do believe he was spot-on, but maybe even the final product, unedited, is still shit.

I really desired to be proficient in writing a much more intelligent review, a more fleshed-out review, but in fact I have nothing else to say.

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Rain


I’m outside on the porch to our cabin. The rain is pouring down on the forest around me and my collection rain jars are overfilling, the sound echoing the waterfalls further north of me. The scented steam from my freshly brewed hot chai tea latte is lifting into the cool air, filling the musky scent from the wet wood and earth with hints of spice. I’m bundled up with a homemade quilt and laptop secured firmly on my legs in the swinging bench, my fingers clicking away on my latest imaginative chronicle. Frogs croak in the rain, unburying themselves from the soft earth to sing to the sky that drips life back into their skin, a smile crosses my face as my heart fills with wonderment and my mind sparks with imagination. I take a moment, as a bird starts singing, to take a sip of my chai tea and allow myself the time to feel the warmth fill me.

Over the rain drops and light twittering of birds there comes a shrill voice, “Hey, Alexis? Can you come help me over here?” I lean back in my office chair, the corroded thing squeals it’s protest, how dare I even think to move. My co-worker beckons me to her and I remove my headphones, making sure to press pause on my galaxy S3 phone application so I’m sure not to miss a raindrop. The day continues in reality once more.

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Filed under Inside the Padded Walls