Walking through Dream…
Posted by LizzyBeth
A little dream…
There is a man of infinite years who has no purpose but this: to wonder the lands between dream and shadow. He has given himself meaning by picking up pieces of other’s lives and hording them. If you are dreaming he is probably there taking whatever bit of your imaginings he can without you ever noticing. Do not confuse him with the Sandman for they are two very different creatures, though I am sure that one is like unto the other as fish to a fisherman or is it more like bread to a baker.
He is called Doran though I am not sure he is even aware that that is his name. He would not have responded if you called out to him; he is not that sort of being that acknowledges names. He does not like the solid things of this world nor the things that are concrete in our reality. He likes the whips of imagination, and the abstract buildings of thoughts. He is at home in the sleeping cities, and the dreaming cats and in the corners of our minds where illusions are real and hopes and fears manifest themselves.
Jenna liked this dream. The floaty feeling of gliding through the field of butterfly flowers left her feeling giddy. The butterflies fluttered in a whirlwind of yellows and creams, of bright oranges and pinks. Butterflies of every color natural and unnatural swirled around her kissing her skin. The flowers and butterflies were one. She did not know where the petals of the flowers and the wings of the butterflies began or ended. She had been dreaming of this field since before she could remember her dreams.
She would always go there, if she closed her eyes and thought of the flowers. But what happened there was never the same. Sometimes the dream would start out good and then end badly other times it would just be good and other times it was just bad from the start. Well not quite the start, the part with the butterfly flowers was always good. Jenna let the sensation of the butterfly flowers wash over her. She was not going to let the dream take her away from this place too soon.
She closed her eyes.
Her dream self did not mean to but it was just her conscious reaction to enjoyment that she did it anyway. The dream shifted. Blackness was creeping in. This did not necessarily mean the dream was going sour. Butterflies still flitted around her; their bright colors stark contrast to the dimness seeping in.
It was in this dimness that she saw him. He was picking the few remaining flowers that had not turned into butterflies. He wore a tattered gray suite with a red scarf. His bare feet sank below the actual ground of Jenna’s dream world. He pinned one of the yellow fluttery butterfly petals on to his lapel. As he did so he glanced up and Jenna caught his eyes. They gleamed with thousands of hopes and endless fears. She was so overcome by the thought of them that she nearly woke herself up. It struck her that he was not a part of her dream because he was not a part of her. The creature was more than what she alone could dream up. He was deeper and more real then she herself was in her own dream.
“Do I know you?” She asked letting the dimness consume all that remained of her butterfly field only the yellow bloom on the man’s lapel existed.
He stood transfixed between fear and hope.
“You, you shouldn’t talk to me.” He replied with a stutter. His voice was deep and resonated with something like an echo of a thousand voices or thoughts.
The man shrugged.
“Do you have a name?”
Again he rolled his shoulders. He stuck his hands deep in his pockets.
“I am not going to hurt you,” she said, not entirely sure why he should be so frightened of her.
“I know,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” Jenna asked.
Her dream world was shifting again. The darkness was turning into storm clouds over a great plain. Lightening cracked the sky and the thunder rumbled from deep within the earth. She could feel it. The man stared at her imploringly. “What do you want from me?” She asked. The man shuddered, backing away from her. “What?” Jenna demanded but she knew that he would not answer.
Her world was raining. She was on a mountain top overlooking the sea. She knew she could fly. She was a bird. A lion was chasing her. She jumped off the cliff only to find herself running towards a picnic scene. Her little sister, who was really Aunt Tessa, was having tea with a herd of pigs. They were all smiling and singing in a patch of sunshine. Jenna called out to them, but they did not acknowledge her.
The rain changed to snow and in the midst of the snowstorm she saw a thin man in a frosty blue suit. She was sitting next to him eating a chocolate covered book. It was her math book. He told her that she needed to find out the square root of a left handed triangle.
“That is impossible,” she said. He laughed at her and his features changed into the man in the gray suit with the red scarf.
“You brought me back…?” He said.
“I don’t know how to solve this equation. It is full of variable I don’t understand.” Jenna was confused. Dreams have their own life, yet this was something more. This man was not part of her dream.
“I am a variable.” He replied sadly. “I like your butterfly flowers…they are one of my favorite dreams.”
“Mine too.” Jenna said, setting aside her math book. “Don’t know…” She began to explain.
A bell rang.
Jenna jolted in her seat. The spine of her spiral note book left the red tracks on her arm and part of her face. Study hall was over and she had not finished her geometry homework.
She closed her eyes, hoping to see butterfly flowers and the man with the red scarf. For a moment she thought she saw him like a wisp out of the corner of her eye. He smiled sadly at her but when she turned to look he was gone.
“Are you alright, Jenna?” Maloney asked.
“I am fine…I had the strangest dream.” Jenna smiled half-heartedly at her friend. But she knew something was not right. Something had happened in her dream that should not have happened. But now that the real world was back she could not place what it was. She shook her head and changed the subject.
A barefoot man in a gray suit with a red scarf walked slowly over the wisps of the dreaming. He watched as holes into other people’s dreams appeared and disappeared. He was too lost in his own disjointed thoughts to acknowledge anyone else. The dreaming faded into the wooded realm of the Between. He hated leaving the dreaming since it was only there that he had completeness and meaning, but not now. She had seen him. No one sees him. She had talked to him and he had talked back. He let the revulsion of the notion course through him. He felt contaminated and yet oddly warmed at the same time. He clutched her flowers more tightly. They were already withering. They reminded him of something from long ago that was no longer there but was still a part of him, but he did not know what it was anymore.