Edd A Fictional Narrative

Hudson rarely dreamed, or he rarely remembered the dreams he had. Sometimes he would wake up in a cold sweat and he’d have to rush to the bathroom to empty his stomach. Tonight, though, his dreams were pleasant, achingly so.

First, he saw Edda, as she had been when they were children. Her hair crowned her head and when the light caught it, it burned it into a hazy orange. A heavy coat was wrapped around her shoulders and a long blue scarf wrapped smoothly along her neck. Her cheeks were rosy, the cold nipping at her skin. She was smiling, so dazzling it hurt. She reached for him, grabbing his hand, and pulled him along as she ran.

Piles of snow and houses flew past as they went, their feet soaking with the slushy mud on the ground. Her hand was warm despite her lack of gloves and the harsh cold that roiled up Hudson’s body. The road beneath them lost its traction and broke apart into dirt and earth. The houses and shops were falling away, slowly being replaced by snow so tall Hudson felt like he had stepped into a room. He gripped Edda’s hand
tighter and let himself relax into her solidity.

In truth, he had missed this, seeing Edda as she was; a girl with excitement and adventure running through her veins.
And having her see him as he was; a boy who was afraid. A boy who needed someone to tell him it was okay, or maybe that it wasn’t, but it would be.

Darkness creeped in at the edge of Hudson’s vision, threatening to sweep the dream into a sea of nothing. Hudson pressed his hands to Edda’s and willed the darkness at bay. It slinked back slightly, letting blue and white move back into place, but it stayed just at the edge of everything.

In front of them, tall and imposing, was a red barn. Its paint was flaking off and the huge handles of the doors were rusted and hanging, swaying slightly in the morning wind. Tall pine trees sat as guards around the barn, taller than the barn itself. Their pine needles dropped every so often, gliding swiftly to the ground and roof and scattered themselves
there.

Edda came to a stop right in front of the barn doors, looking up at the little window set right above the doors. Her curls sifted around languidly with help from the wind. Her scarf was slipping free and Hudson knew that in a moment it would slide from her neck and be lost in the sky or snow. But he did not reach out and fix it, he couldn’t.

“I live here, Hudson Wren.” She whispered, her voice holding none of the gruffness as it did outside of the dream. Hudson held his breath, a familiarity coursing through the fabric of the dream. He knew where this was going, it had happened just like this ten years ago. “Alone. No parents, no one to watch over me.”

He wished for the darkness to come back, but it was gone. Light so bright it hurt filled the sky and Hudson was chained to where he stood.

“Will you tell the guards, Hudson Wren?” She asked, a coldness filtering through her words. It was too much.

Hudson could feel the swelling of his chest, and then the sudden constriction of his lungs. He needed to level his breathing but he couldn’t even breathe. With each word Edda spoke, his guilt choked him harder.

“Will you pull me away from this place, my only home?” He closed his eyes and pressed his hands on his throat, begging. “Will you take my childhood away, Hudson Wren? Will you rob me of my choices?”

Yes. He didn’t speak aloud, but he answered in his mind and the pressure in his lungs subsided. He drank in the air, tears slipping down his face. His heart was bleeding, but the darkness came sweeping back in, pushing away the harsh light and saving him. There was a heavy silence that settled over the dream. It was broken only by one voice.

“Will you, Hudson Wren?”