I had a scary dream yesterday. I was in a familiar place, large stone houses and storefronts ending in a cul-de-sac. Trees and greenery, blue sky. I was going about my business when you came to get me. And you were there, and you too. Familiar faces all. You were convinced I had to die.
You took me into the basement of one of the houses and led me to an old iron bed with a spring box, no mattress. A half-window let light in. Was I contained or did inevitability hold me there?
I had this sense that you had killed me before. I was frustrated that we’d come to this again. That I couldn’t communicate why you were mistaken, why this was wrong. I was sad to be leaving things undone.
As you got the fire ready, a small girl with a bag full of feathers came and joined me. I told her she couldn’t be here or she would die too. “I know,” she said, snuggling in, and I realized she’d been there all those other times as well.
And I woke up crying…