The Gift

Type: dream imagery (non-lucid)

I haven't really remembered much in a long time. But last night's dream was just too vivid, too epic, too horrible.

A run-down building... secret tunnels, passageways boarded up. I am a member of a large collective of youth, possibly orphans. We are hiding from something terribly evil. The evil has been in stasis, and now suddenly it has broken free.

The building, on its surface levels, is like a hotel. It even has a vast auditorium with rich, red velvet curtains and beautiful seats. My father, my stepmother, on some retreat with a lot of people their age. And we, the nobodies, know that the Evil is coming for them. And it is behind us, all around us. We are dropping like flies as we rush to their rescue, but no one can save us.

We make our way through the secret passageways, bursting through boarded-up doors in a panic, splintering wood and hearing our own fall behind. The screams bounce and thud on every narrow wall. Every new room we enter marks another of our people dead. But there is no time to waste, and we have to keep moving.

To kill this Evil requires a skill that I don't think that I possess, myself. One has to make visible their secret, the yellow glowing stars that make every vertex of the being, and eliminate the stars one by one so that the Evil falls apart in a bundle of ripped threads. But in the panic, in the hurry, I have no way to learn this means of survival. So we fall, one by one, struggling to reach the surface and save those waiting in the wings, unsuspecting.

We arrive in the auditorium. My father is happy to see me. I leap into his arms, relieved. I feel small, like a little girl, though I am not. I am glad to see him alive. We share a brief moment of rest before I hear one of the resort-goers fall, screaming. There they are, a pack of the Evil, and my people are strangely missing from the room.

What else can I do? I beg them all to run. My father slips away safely, and I only manage to save a few before I must escape, too. Back down into the tunnels, the Evil loping behind us, hungry and relentless.

I feel helpless. Usually in dreams, in a desperate situation, I am some sort of heroine, not super, but strong enough to handle myself. But here I am fearful. The Evil is just so strong, and I've seen so many die horribly, that I can't tell myself that I'm capable of defeating it. I think placing my father into danger is what has crippled me for the whole of this dream. I've forgotten my strength because of fear.

In my hurry, I lose the others. It seems I have temporarily shaken the creatures off my tail, as well. I am in a white bedroom, furnished with a small girl's bed with pink comforters and teddy bear pictures on the walls. My room from childhood. The closet is open slightly. A black cat leaps from wall to wall, trying to get away from me.

I have an axe.

The black cat is barely an adult. It is not afraid of me, it just refuses to sit still. I grab it by the scruff of the neck and bring the axe up to its back, and am horrified to feel myself yank it across its hide. Over and over and over. It does not struggle.

Now I have medical gloves on. I fear the blood but there is none, really, other than the large, even gashes in the cat's back. I cradle it in my arms and am outside in my back yard. Tears run down my face.

A girl lopes around the back yard on all fours. She is a member of my crew, a dog that looks like a beautiful girl. She is stalking a bird and pays me no mind. I fall to my knees in the grass, still holding the black cat in my arms.

It does not fear me, it is not angry. I feel the life seeping out of it and I am crying. I lower my face to the cat's, and it rubs its nose against my cheeks. Its fur is soft and perfect. We rub faces for minutes that feel like an eternity. It cannot make a sound; it is too weak. I am petting its soft fur, feeling the breaths grow more and more shallow. I want to take it all back, but somehow it was for the good of the world that I did this. The cat understands, and somehow I still can't forgive myself. I can't forgive myself. I am losing a dear, old friend. He isn't angry with me. I miss him, I panic, I can't lose him. All this is too horrible, and I wake up.