"Crystal Ball" by Keane

Song: "Crystal Ball" by Keane

Felling: Dream-like, creative

Description: I've always liked Keane songs because they ahve a certain uniqueness about them especially this one , which to em sounds as if it comes form a dream or some sort of fantasy which, I guess, is also why I chose it for this story. The song is "Crystal Ball" by Keane. I don;t really know what the band was trying to say with it, but to me it sounds creative and as if it comes from the depths of their imagaination. Also I think it sort of is trying to describe the feeling of wanting to find magic and fantasy in the world. The feeling is creative, or dream-like. I don't think I did a marvelous job of portraying those, but oh well. :)

Story:

            She liked to read books.

            She devoured them whole, taking them down from their shelves and gobbling up their words, her eyes breathing in the letters and her fingers flying rapidly turning the delicate paper.

            Books were her form of escape, her form of treading off into dreamlike worlds. Her way of shedding off the real world that dragged her down and sprinting off into one of dreams and possibilities.

            She especially liked fantasy ones. The ones that would revolve around magic, around things she knew could not exist, but inside the pages they brought life and became as real as the air she breathed. These were the books that made her feel dream-like, the ones that would have her looking at the world a little harder, trying to find a little bit of magic in it, thinking that maybe if she looked hard enough, if she concentrated enough, she would see it.

            She would see it because she lived on the edges of reality, dancing on the thin line of reality and dreams. Tipping over occasionally, loosing her balance and drowning in the world of fantasies. She would fall into a world of dreams, she would fall into a world where music could be held. A world where colors could be invented, a world where the wind sang the sweetest of melodies which the stars and moon would echo. A place in which the world would hold it’s breath because of how radiant it was. A place where only for a moment the words which she read would amplify to form walls, and cities, rivers that run through grassy fields and fluffy white clouds would melt into sweet rain. A world that felt dream-like, a world in which she the stranger, the guest that would fall in love with the place. The intruder.

            When ever she read she would fly over to that world, to the small piece of land owned and kept by her imagination and she would sit and watch into it. Spy in on its characters, letting its warmth seep into her, its music enlight her, letting the words take her up high beyond the reach of birds, close enough to touch the stars. Making her feel magical as she swam in the seas of creativity and ink, flew in the skies of imagination and touched the clouds of words. Making her feel dream-like.