The Dreamers Dream

Millions of white lights flew through the air, and through buildings like falling stars. I raised my hand as one passed through it, for the first time since my supposed rebirth into the world of the living, I felt something that wasn’t a direct consequence of my emotions. The ball fled past me, hurtling through other objects having no effect but a sand paper like sound. Another, quite humorously flew directly between my eyes and I turned around to see where it had gone to, when a waving shroud caught my eye. It was dark, a symbol of sin, and of confusion. I peered at it curiously as it slumped from building to building, getting closer at every bound. Suddenly I felt fear. I backed away slowly. In a glimmer of light, a sword flung from its sleeve. It shined in the light of day. The shrouds hood flung over and a skull with gaping jaws, opened. Screaming it slashed out at me, feeling its cold blade though my chest, I screamed in panic.

“Snap out of it kid.”

I now peered through the familiar opening of my shroud, if I where able to breath hard, I think I would be doing so. I felt a rush through me, and stood up quickly.

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you about those.”. Guin turned about and walked toward the end of the alley and formed his cloak into that familiar long coat.

“ Sometimes when you’re in the world of the dead you fall into a kind of sleep, only the first few times though, later you’ll get the hang of avoiding them. But if you do you’ll notice it’s always nightmares. Some Dreamers can’t help it and as soon as they change planes they fall into that sleep. Eventually they go insane and become nightmares themselves, doing nothing but the violent acts that they see every time they become too feeble to withstand the sun.”

He turned around and smiled.

I thought out loud, “Hopefully it’s the last time it happens to me.”

Guin looked at me funny. I looked down at myself and tried to reshape the shroud that covered me. With a flitter of a strange sound and a slight change of form, I sighed in failure. The word try was definitely the operative one. Guin laughed lowly at me before he shaped his clothing into many different things at once. Colors and shapes and textures; jeans, flannel, silk, leather, rubber and hundreds of different materials. “It takes a little practice, and you won’t be able to do much without another piece of yourself”.

I cocked my head to the side, if I had a face, I’d probably have been frowning.

“Your body is probably in a cemetery, there might be trouble getting it though, I’ll have to teach you a few more things before we go”.

I was thinking the same thing, about my body being in a cemetery. It was quite obvious that I was dead, and that whatever Guinehem was telling me was the truth. Finally cognitively accepting death forced a concoction of emotions to hurtle through me like a wild fire. That word made things worse, fire. It seemed so sinister, so dark, filled with seething agony. Flashes of images, light passing through me, golden tongues licking the flesh of my body, eating me alive. I knew how I had died, all the clues pointed towards it; the fact that most Dreamers come back as spirits if they die a slow death, like drowning or burning: the fact that spirits are found at the place of highestemotional suspense, or of their deaths. The fact that were I was found, was in a burnt lot where a house once stood. My head was filled with thoughts and images of that place, some that I had lived and some that seem to be from my former life, quick flashes of white walls and wooden stairways, the sounds of a woman laughing, content. The feeling of love, ripped to pieces by an unknown tragedy.

The End

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