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Reality is the mirror of my dreams

The night before last I had a dream I'm not sure how to describe.  Strange is a good word for it.  It was fun at first, but it became horrible.

It took place in a nice little homestead surrounded by forest.  I was a little girl who spent most of my time playing with my little sister.  I'm not sure how old we were, exactly, but if I had to guess, I'd say she was four and I was five.  We had mostly normal lives for little girls in a decent home, and we spent most of our time playing outside, sometimes straying a little into the woods.  I'm not sure how or why it happened, but somehow we came across a magic broom similar to the ones in Harry Potter.  The stranger thing about our broom was that it had a split end, perfect for two little girls to ride on it together.

We rode on our broom for hours and hours, flying around the back yard.  I did most of the steering while my sister just held on tightly.  It was difficult to get a good balance, and it was frightening to go too high.  I would often find myself reaching for tree branches to steer us a little and keep us from going too high, genuinely fearing that we might not come down otherwise.

We had a lot of fun this way, and eventually we landed.  We left the broom in its proper place—a seemingly random spot in the back yard, but it was a quite carefully selected spot in our minds—and returned to wandering the yard as normal, getting used to our feet again.  As we often did, the two of us wandered near the edge of the woods, not that far from the house.  I stayed out of the trees themselves, but she went a bit further.  This was the day she disappeared.

Everything gets more confusing after this.  Things start jumping as I don't understand what's going on and just keep worrying about what happened.  I must have learned from my parents in the days following that she was dead; at the very least, I knew it to be the case, or felt it to be.  People began visiting often, and I didn't know a lot of them.  Enough of them I knew to be friends, so I wasn't especially worried—except by this one man.

I recognized him.  He had this odd face that wasn't exactly long but somehow seemed to stick out.  His skin had an odd kind of texture to it, he had no facial hair, and his nose had a bridge that was all too recognizable.  This was the man that stole my sister.  In my confusion, I must have blocked it out until he showed up at my house.  I knew who it was the moment I saw him.  Apparently he was a neighbor.

I tried, or at least thought I tried, to make people understand who he was.  It didn't seem to get through to people.  Eventually his friends came along, and somehow I knew they were bad too.  There were three of them, and I didn't really remember them clearly, but somehow I knew these three were all part of the kidnapping and they were after me too.  It was true, as well, I soon came to find out.

They approached me near the edge of the open garage doors, the three of them clearly separate from the other people shuffling in and out of the place.  People were invited to be there.  They came directly after me, this sort of stale menacing look on the strange man's face—not something that others might recognize as actively malevolent, but it had this blank gaze that told me bad things were coming.

Apparently they'd gotten to me too, back when they'd gotten my sister, because they knew me and already had this hold on me.  Somehow I must have forgotten, like I told myself to forget, or maybe they told me too.  I still don't understand what happened when they got us, but it was horrible and the torment of it all started coming back as he talked to me.  He must have created some kind of trigger word in me because suddenly he said something I didn't really hear—not the real words, anyway, but this strange kind of sound.  All around me, from every angle it seemed, I was surrounded and penetrated by this strange, loud, echoing voice that sounded like, "Oh, zip, zip, zip ..."

It was that strange, haunting, and violating sound that brought me to my knees, trying to cover my ears.  It was shortly after I began to wake up, laying in bed half awake and half dreaming, just wanting so badly to escape that pain and somehow find my sister.

--

I'm not sure what to make of it all; it's hard to place its context, really.  Some people say that dreams don't have meaning, or at least not always, but I believe they do—even if it's not an obvious meaning, or the meaning you want it to be, or even something you can interpret.  It's clear the dream has certain themes about innocence, the magic of youth, and the ways children experience things; then tragedy, fear, loss, and the pain of people's ill intent and manipulations—things by which I tend to feel paralyzed and helpless.  I can certainly relate to all things things in my waking life, and I very much feel trapped, paralyzed, terrified of what might happen, and useless towards doing anything about it.  All I want is to escape the horror of the psychic traps that have been cast onto me, and I still really want to find my sister.

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( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
sixteenbynine
Mar. 2nd, 2009 07:10 pm (UTC)
I'm having a little trouble saying anything more coherent than "That's quite messed up".

I've never been able to relate my dreams in any significant detail because the damn things are always so long and complicated that I can never remember more than the last few bits.
aekiy
Mar. 2nd, 2009 07:30 pm (UTC)
My dreams are often that, but I can remember a surprising amount of detail often enough. It would be more difficult to describe last night's feature, The Adventures of Penn & Teller.
rmash1948
Mar. 2nd, 2009 09:03 pm (UTC)
wow... just... wow...
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )

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