Brought to you by (I think?) morbane and the word 'balcony', 200 words.
Somnambulists at Large
That night, she dreamed of horses. She had visited the lake many times at night, had floated in a curricle on its oily black waters, glittering with strange reflected stars. But the horses, shimmering white, had never been there before, though she knew they were meant. The least of them was so beautiful she wished never to wake. They surrounded her as she stood barefoot on the muddy beach, demanded she join them. She climbed onto the leader’s back as easily as if she had always been meant to, had practiced for this day, and they flew further out over the dark waters than she had ever gone. The water beneath her changed as the stars moved, and began to whirl outwards from a tunnel in the lake’s centre.
A man rode with them. She knew him, from the Sleep Clinic.
“This,” came a voice in her ear, “is the last place where you may turn back”. The horses circled, and she saw that beyond the water lay other stars.
“No,” she begged the glorious creatures, “please”. The horses plunged downwards, carrying her to a new world. When they found her in the morning, she had fallen from the balcony.
© Ellen Couch, 2010