Just before dawn she woke up from another disturbing dream.
No! No! I want to sleep, I don't want to stay awake for hours thinking back on what I just witnessed. The horrible, horrible sights! And all of it coming from MY head...
She struggled for sleep, but of course a thing so delicate is not to be struggled for. She lingered in that semiconscious state, thinking of nothing specific, yet feeling obsessively feverish. She turned and lay on her belly, her face turned towards the wall. She usually could not sleep in that position, somehow feeling that her breath is cut off, but now she was desperate, and willing to try anything to get back to sleep.
Slowly, pulse by pulse, she felt herself falling, falling back into unconsciousness. But suddenly it was too frightening, this plummeting feeling, and she started, then realized that she was now wide-awake.
It was no use trying again. She knew that it was better to just get up and start the day.
Silently she went down the stairs, then to the kitchen where she poured herself a bowl of cereals. This being done, she carefully crossed the kitchen floor and entered the living room. She put the bowl down on the coffee table, took the red book down from the shelf, the book that she went to a lot these days; the one by Gordon Filligreen.
Why am I so drawn to that book? Maybe because that man gives off a feeling of such sadness and loss, that I can't help put feel sympathetic. Or maybe I sense that he has some answers for me.
Curling up with her bowl and book in the big cushioned chair, she read.
Would you live in the Ogre's Palace of Murder? Would you choose to sleepwalk until such a time as he would choose you, and not your brother, for his Horrible Feast? Would you accept his Tyranny, all in the name of Brute Strength?
No! No, I tell you! And so I refuse this Commonplace tolerance. I will not stand by and grin as the Ogres devour all that is Good.
'And who are the Ogres?', you ask in breathless curiosity. We, my friends, us, and the Traditions of War on which our gardens are growing and our foundations are built.
She stopped. That was enough. Her heart was beating hard, she was almost seeing the Thing that had made her dream a nightmare. Not a monster, per say, but a Scene, a Situation, that was unacceptable, unmanageable. Something about a bus and a crash. No, not a crash, but a fight. And a crowd rushing for her, a desert of violence, a black-haired man grabbing her, and she pulling out a gun, and shooting him in the chest, in the face. And then running, getting back to a hospitable place, a supermarket. And the cashier telling her that one of them is in the store, look out. So she goes around, shooting everybody, and realizing that the only evil person here is herself.
No, I did not dream that. I am taking that horrible feeling and putting some images on it. The dream was oh so subtler, and not as obviously violent.
She put back the book and went back in the kitchen. The sun was slowly getting up, a timid white light coming through the windows.
Don't have to leave for school for another two hours. What am I supposed to do until then?
She climbed the stairs, and walked to her sister's room.
She slowly opened the door, and peeked inside.
Karen was breathing noiselessly, lying on her side, her face turned towards the door. Jennifer entered the room, and came closer to her sister. After a few seconds she gave her a little kiss on the head. Immediately she felt more at ease. She felt surrounded by loving people, and not just by ideas of fear and death.
She crept back to her own bed. The sheets were still somewhat warm, and so she was immediately comfortable. Her sister's face still clear in her mind, she fell asleep.
No! No! I want to sleep, I don't want to stay awake for hours thinking back on what I just witnessed. The horrible, horrible sights! And all of it coming from MY head...
She struggled for sleep, but of course a thing so delicate is not to be struggled for. She lingered in that semiconscious state, thinking of nothing specific, yet feeling obsessively feverish. She turned and lay on her belly, her face turned towards the wall. She usually could not sleep in that position, somehow feeling that her breath is cut off, but now she was desperate, and willing to try anything to get back to sleep.
Slowly, pulse by pulse, she felt herself falling, falling back into unconsciousness. But suddenly it was too frightening, this plummeting feeling, and she started, then realized that she was now wide-awake.
It was no use trying again. She knew that it was better to just get up and start the day.
Silently she went down the stairs, then to the kitchen where she poured herself a bowl of cereals. This being done, she carefully crossed the kitchen floor and entered the living room. She put the bowl down on the coffee table, took the red book down from the shelf, the book that she went to a lot these days; the one by Gordon Filligreen.
Why am I so drawn to that book? Maybe because that man gives off a feeling of such sadness and loss, that I can't help put feel sympathetic. Or maybe I sense that he has some answers for me.
Curling up with her bowl and book in the big cushioned chair, she read.
Would you live in the Ogre's Palace of Murder? Would you choose to sleepwalk until such a time as he would choose you, and not your brother, for his Horrible Feast? Would you accept his Tyranny, all in the name of Brute Strength?
No! No, I tell you! And so I refuse this Commonplace tolerance. I will not stand by and grin as the Ogres devour all that is Good.
'And who are the Ogres?', you ask in breathless curiosity. We, my friends, us, and the Traditions of War on which our gardens are growing and our foundations are built.
She stopped. That was enough. Her heart was beating hard, she was almost seeing the Thing that had made her dream a nightmare. Not a monster, per say, but a Scene, a Situation, that was unacceptable, unmanageable. Something about a bus and a crash. No, not a crash, but a fight. And a crowd rushing for her, a desert of violence, a black-haired man grabbing her, and she pulling out a gun, and shooting him in the chest, in the face. And then running, getting back to a hospitable place, a supermarket. And the cashier telling her that one of them is in the store, look out. So she goes around, shooting everybody, and realizing that the only evil person here is herself.
No, I did not dream that. I am taking that horrible feeling and putting some images on it. The dream was oh so subtler, and not as obviously violent.
She put back the book and went back in the kitchen. The sun was slowly getting up, a timid white light coming through the windows.
Don't have to leave for school for another two hours. What am I supposed to do until then?
She climbed the stairs, and walked to her sister's room.
She slowly opened the door, and peeked inside.
Karen was breathing noiselessly, lying on her side, her face turned towards the door. Jennifer entered the room, and came closer to her sister. After a few seconds she gave her a little kiss on the head. Immediately she felt more at ease. She felt surrounded by loving people, and not just by ideas of fear and death.
She crept back to her own bed. The sheets were still somewhat warm, and so she was immediately comfortable. Her sister's face still clear in her mind, she fell asleep.
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