Wake

Wake

Wake

Have you ever seen something in your dreams that you wish you could just forget? Have you ever felt that you shouldn’t be dreaming a certain dream? Well I used to. Every night. Some people would call this a curse, but I call it a gift- once it is mastered.

My name is Serenity. Serenity Smyth. I live in the same world as you, I think like you, and I appear like you- though in reality, I am nothing like you. People have called me a hero; because of the plans of distress I have been able to spot in the mass conscious’ dreams. That is another story though. I am telling you this story because of the love I had once met in his dreams. He was a young man when I first met him, about 20 years old, so he was only just about a year older than me. I first came across him in his dreams, when he was sadly planning his suicide….

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No…no!…Nooo… A crying moan came to my attention, and I looked up from the meditative state that I often fall asleep in, now in the dream world. No…nooo… I followed the sound on my hands and knees, through the dark, navy-colored monotony of the world between dreams, where light, bright clouds would be hovering in the air above me, like puffs of cotton candy, full of light. Then there were some of them that would look like the one I was looking for- *wet sigh I know what to do…I must end it…*- heavy, dark, sometimes wet, and lying on the floor- if there was one in this place…It sounded as though the man was in the grips of a particularly nasty nightmare, as I was used to identifying the sorts of dreams I look for, before I actually find them. I now felt an image press itself to my third eye, and I examined it to see whether it was from some random dream or the one I was seeking. Though the negativity with which it presented itself was a heavy clue. So I let it in.

It was raining. Cement sidewalks, city streetlights, roads and traffic lights. The scene was completely deserted except for a lone figure, sitting hunched over on the side of the pavement, soaked through, his ear-length dark hair hanging down in strings, holding something- someone in his arms. A little boy lay there, his soul no longer apparent in his eyes. From the looks of him, he had been hit by a car, and closing my eyes, I could just sense the crowds of people gathering around them, being pushed back by officers, cars roaring by on the road, the area taped off with the yellow: ‘CRIME SCENE: DO NOT CROSS’- all as pale as ghosts. What was more apparent than the crowds? The fact that the young boy that was being held in the arms of the crying man- he was the crying man’s little brother.

Gently I pushed this image away from my mind. This was a sad image, though I had seen much of the same thing before.

*My brother…! My brother…! I was meant to keep him safe…!* Echoes from the picture I had seen resonated in my mind. It was very sad, and I set my focus to finding this man, Mark. As I crawled faster in the direction that his mind was telling me to go, I got lost in thought. It was strange how I could just know things, and not have to worry about offending those people, since we were all known in the world between dreams.

I was standing on the sidewalk behind Mark, and I was tempted to blink my eyes, acknowledging the fact that I must’ve crawled into his dream without noticing. I just lowered my eyes briefly to the ground, then back up, carefully softening and warming my soul, so that I wouldn’t be cold to the touch, or wet either. Sympathetically, I walked through the ghostly crowd to Mark, and sat down next to him.

I looked up, and saw that a scene played out in front of us that involved Mark jumping off the Boston Bridge. I shook my head, and waved my right hand at the image so that it disappeared, and Mark gradually stopped crying. I held him in my arms, murmuring softly to him, easily taking on the role of a mother comforting her child. I willed the sky to stop weeping, and I gently smoothed and fluffed his hair dry, a light brown color that way. His brother was blonde and wet, and I felt a stab of sadness from Mark’s heart as he looked down at him. I felt his suicidal plans starting to come back into motion as he looked at him, and I massaged his shoulders gently, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

*‘It’s time to let him go, Markus…he’s in a better place…’* I talked to him through my mind, and he leaned into me, not even looking around to look at my face, only needing the comfort of another warm body by his side.

*He is my brother…I was supposed to keep him safe…He wasn’t supposed to go…* For a few warm moments, I let the seconds comfortably drift by.