![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kathierif_ficTitle: Just my imagination
Author: Kathie
Fandom: Inception (movie)
Characters: Ariadne
Rating: FRT
Word Count: 494
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: You never really remember the beginning of a dream, do you? You always just end up in the middle of it.
Author’s Notes: written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mini_nanowrimo, plus, you know, the whole theme I'm not going to give away here, therefore, it is supposed to be this short. This is what I’m thinking about when I’m not sleeping, apparently.
It almost feels like a dream, Ariadne thinks as she looks around, almost a little bit like Limbo, but something is definitely off, even for Limbo, and she’s been in a dream, shared or alone, often enough now to realize it, and okay, Cobbs is right, you never know that you’re in a dream until you wake up and figure out that something really was strange, but this?
She has a weird feeling about it, and she can’t shake it off.
“Is this a dream?” she asks, out loud. Her voice sounds weirdly hollow, as if it’s echoing off the buildings – ruins – around her.
“Who knows?” a voice answers her – it’s not Cobbs’ voice, and she whirls around, tries to spot the owner of it, but she’s still alone, still the only soul in the middle of a huge plaza, surrounded by silent, decaying buildings that only hold the faint memory of the decadence they once represented and promised.
It is, she thinks, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, a pretty hopeless place to be.
She has no idea how she got here.
She also has no idea where this place is.
Or who this voice belongs to.
“Maybe you do,” she calls out challengingly. “Who are you? Where are you?”
“I’m…everywhere.” That voice again, eerily quiet, and she really can’t pinpoint where it comes from – everywhere, nowhere, it’s like the voice of God.
“Great,” she mutters. “I’m in a dream. What now?”
She looks around, trying to figure out a way to wake up, but before she can decide on a course of action – climbing a building to jump off the roof, anything that will give her the needed kick – the voice chuckles quietly.
“How do you know you’re in a dream?” it asks amusedly.
Ariadne pulls her shoulders up defensively and wraps her arms around herself. “For one, I don’t remember how I got here,” she answers. “You never really remember the beginning of a dream, do you?” Vaguely, she’s aware that she is quoting Cobbs, and for a split second, she wishes he were here, to help her and guide her through this. “You always…just end up in the middle of what’s going on.”
“True,” the voice answers. It still sounds vaguely amused, and Ariadne wonders if she should feel offended by it. But then, if the voice goes away, she’s all alone, and she doesn’t want that.
Not when she doesn’t know what’s going on here.
“But…” the voice continues. It sounds thoughtful now. “…the same can be said about a short story.”
“What?” Ariadne asks faintly, completely thrown by the direction this conversation is taking.
The voice hums quietly. “A short story,” it repeats. “They are known to focus on a limited cast of characters, plus, they have an abrupt start, and an abrupt, open end.” It chuckled again. “So tell me…you know how to get out of a dream…but how do you get out of a short story?”
~end.
Author: Kathie
Fandom: Inception (movie)
Characters: Ariadne
Rating: FRT
Word Count: 494
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: You never really remember the beginning of a dream, do you? You always just end up in the middle of it.
Author’s Notes: written for
mini_nanowrimo, plus, you know, the whole theme I'm not going to give away here, therefore, it is supposed to be this short. This is what I’m thinking about when I’m not sleeping, apparently.It almost feels like a dream, Ariadne thinks as she looks around, almost a little bit like Limbo, but something is definitely off, even for Limbo, and she’s been in a dream, shared or alone, often enough now to realize it, and okay, Cobbs is right, you never know that you’re in a dream until you wake up and figure out that something really was strange, but this?
She has a weird feeling about it, and she can’t shake it off.
“Is this a dream?” she asks, out loud. Her voice sounds weirdly hollow, as if it’s echoing off the buildings – ruins – around her.
“Who knows?” a voice answers her – it’s not Cobbs’ voice, and she whirls around, tries to spot the owner of it, but she’s still alone, still the only soul in the middle of a huge plaza, surrounded by silent, decaying buildings that only hold the faint memory of the decadence they once represented and promised.
It is, she thinks, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, a pretty hopeless place to be.
She has no idea how she got here.
She also has no idea where this place is.
Or who this voice belongs to.
“Maybe you do,” she calls out challengingly. “Who are you? Where are you?”
“I’m…everywhere.” That voice again, eerily quiet, and she really can’t pinpoint where it comes from – everywhere, nowhere, it’s like the voice of God.
“Great,” she mutters. “I’m in a dream. What now?”
She looks around, trying to figure out a way to wake up, but before she can decide on a course of action – climbing a building to jump off the roof, anything that will give her the needed kick – the voice chuckles quietly.
“How do you know you’re in a dream?” it asks amusedly.
Ariadne pulls her shoulders up defensively and wraps her arms around herself. “For one, I don’t remember how I got here,” she answers. “You never really remember the beginning of a dream, do you?” Vaguely, she’s aware that she is quoting Cobbs, and for a split second, she wishes he were here, to help her and guide her through this. “You always…just end up in the middle of what’s going on.”
“True,” the voice answers. It still sounds vaguely amused, and Ariadne wonders if she should feel offended by it. But then, if the voice goes away, she’s all alone, and she doesn’t want that.
Not when she doesn’t know what’s going on here.
“But…” the voice continues. It sounds thoughtful now. “…the same can be said about a short story.”
“What?” Ariadne asks faintly, completely thrown by the direction this conversation is taking.
The voice hums quietly. “A short story,” it repeats. “They are known to focus on a limited cast of characters, plus, they have an abrupt start, and an abrupt, open end.” It chuckled again. “So tell me…you know how to get out of a dream…but how do you get out of a short story?”
~end.