We Have Forgotten

Time Square

The dreams, I cannot escape them! Have you ever been afraid to sleep? I am. As soon as I close my eyes images of demons and human pain take the stage. Like a horrible, never-ending Broadway show, the vilest intricacies of human existence plague my sub-conscience. I love the spirit and the spirit loves me, but religion haunts my dreams; charred human flesh bound to burning crosses, human emotion crucified on the hill of religious conviction, the severing of the heads of those I love by the guillotine of forgetfulness and darkness, this is my lot in the night.

The heat of the coffee in my hands does little to dispel the cold left by my sleep. Looking out my seventh-story window at the cement, metal and glass of the city, I can feel the people that inhabited it, but I grow weary of their aching. I have enough trouble of my own why should I have to bear their pain as well?

Coat, hat, shoes the same as every other day. Grabbing the doorknob, I sighed.

“Why am I here?” I breathe aloud, but as every other day, I start my walk to the museum.

Stopping at the edge of Time Square I look around, it seems abnormally full of cars and people today.

I feel very cold, as I do when I dream. I can sense it, sense something, that same something I know I have been waiting for the whole of my existence. I can feel, intensely, the pain and emotion of the people who fill the square, betrayal, anger, sorrow, grief, but most of all loneliness, a feeling of utter disconnectedness. I shutter under the weight of the emotion and some small part of me cried out to the Maker I thought I did not know. Somehow, I knew this must come. I knew that my dreams must inevitably collide with my reality. I knew the dreams had been more than simple tremors in my sub-conscience and now my greatest fears were being realized!

A somehow familiar presence stood in the man at my side. It is easy to be next to him. Where had he come from? I do not know, and I guess I do not care, but for some reason the weight I had been feeling eased, so whoever he is I am pleased he is here.

“They all look so sad, so alone.” I said to the man at my side. I did not normally speak to strangers, and I didn’t know why I felt so comfortable speaking to this man. Without ever having seen his face, I felt as if I could tell him anything. He was silent, but I waited trusting he would answer.

“They have forgotten,” he said in a soft voice that eased the knots from my center, and made me warmer than I had been in months.

“Forgotten what?” I asked not wanting him to stop talking, but I turned and he had gone.

“Hmm,” I said looking around. I could have sworn there was just someone here.

Feeling that I may be crazy, I began to move when the signs bright red WALK lit up. A lovely blonde woman walked at my side. Her stiletto heels tapped against the pavement rhythmically as we moved. Her classy, black pencil suit made me feel frumpy, and her diamond earrings reminded me of the expense of living in this damn city.

Turning to me, she smiled and I went to return the kind gesture, but before the smile could spread across my face the skin at the corners of her light, pink, lips began to tear and bleed. Blood spread across her, now bare gums and teeth and the tearing continued. I gasped in horror as her perfect skin pulled away from her face, revealing bone and muscle. Her lovely body shriveled beneath the black, pencil suit and began to writhe. Laughing, it, she, the demon creature, turned to me and began to circle.

“They will never remember,” it screeched! “Never! Never!” it laughed, dancing hideously around me!

The Nightmare of a Memory--part one--

Fear wove intricate designs within the lovely sounds of Father Peter’s pleas to the Great One in that place between waking and sleeping. I wished to stay in the realm of the conscious, but had not the strength.

The vividness of my dreams always surprised, excited, but more often horrified me. While I still had control, I prayed with Father Peter, but then as I knew they would dreams became my reality.

The full moon shone brightly on the uneven ground as I walked along kicking small pebbles on the well used path. The warm night breeze caressed my heightened senses, and I realized that I was drunk. My hands tingled, my head felt light, and I smiled into the darkness at nothing. I was thinking of my Niklav, calloused hands blazing trails along my soft skin. The memory seemed so familiar. Of course it would, I thought. I think of my glorious lover all the time. It was more than that though.

Breathing deeply, I smiled at the smell of moist air and fish. There must be a lake nearby.

“No!” I breathed after I froze on the dirt path. “Please Great One not this place!”

I scanned the area instantly sober. A massive lodge cast menacing shadows too close to me. I heard people afar off, laughing, singing, and celebrating. Light green and brown, my dress hugged the ground, and my heart began to race as I looked it over. Aija, my sister, had made the dress for me. I had not seen it for years. Not since the night it was destroyed.

He lurked in the darkness, but I saw him. I turned. I ran. I could feel his breath on the nape of my neck, the tips of his toes on my heels. Franticly, I moved, stumbling in the darkness. My tears created puddles barring me.

The ground seemed unnaturally hard when I hit. I scratched and clawed trying to pull away from him, but I heard my dress tear as he yanked me toward him. I screamed for Niklav, but in my fear I had run far from his ears! I cried and screamed as Mikhail rolled me over. My nails dug into the skin on his face ripping it away and infuriating him. His fist hit hard and my eyes went black for a moment, ringing in my ears.

“No, please Mikhail!”

“I have waited so long for this,” Mikhail said the lust burning in his eyes.

“Mikhail, please,” I cried. Swinging my arms and kneeing him in the genitals earning another hard punch in the face. I tasted blood. Through blurry eyes, I watched as Mikhail’s eyes turned that glossy black I had grown to fear.

The blackness in his eyes made me angry not afraid, but the more I kicked and screamed the more excited Mikhail became. His eyes returned to their scummy green, and I actually wished for the blackness. The green of Mikhail’s eyes made me vomit. I hoped the chunks of food I had spewed on him would be a discouragement, but they were not.