Chapter Eleven

 

Shaken

 

Monday morning, August 8th 3:15 AM

 

It is not often that I’m in such a state as I now find myself in, and, having imbibed my last few fingers of whisky, I find I’m no calmer than before I had partaken of the spirits. For whatever reason I’ve taken up these pages. I am grateful for them now. The relief and catharsis provided in this journal are more than I would have given them credit for before I began. I’m hoping by the time I am finished with this entry, some level of calmness will have returned to me, that my mind will clear of the horrific images burned into it years ago, and now, just recently, revisited upon it.

I do not dream often, nor do I imagine those like me dream often either; it was not built into our nature to do so. Tonight however, I dreamed. Oh such terrible visions! Memories that scar the very fiber of the soul, searing the depths of it to the core, wounding, breaking, burdening, twisting. There is no forgetting such things, no healing over the scars with layers of soft, pink flesh. Some wounds never heal; some pains will never cease, but can only be forced back into the darkest shadows of one's being, given a long chain and a playground in the blackest parts of the soul. It is best not to visit this place often. Indeed, it is prudent to guard one's self from this hateful place, and ensure no one ever gets close enough to see it within.

The burning, oh, the hateful smell of burning feathers, of flesh ignited and blood spilled freely over the torn earth! I saw again how the sky itself was dark and bruised by all those who fell, screaming, burning, bleeding and fighting as they fell, leaving trails of feathers and blood in the air behind them. So many sounds at once, screams and war cries, pleading prayers that fell deaf to the one to whom they prayed. Metal on metal, bones crushing and blood flowing so freely that I could hear it being absorbed into the earth. Brother against brother, the innumerable deaths of those who once could not die. So much suffering, so much pain, the sense of betrayal hot and thick in the air. Madness, decay, fear, pain, the first ever palpitations of hatred.

Tonight, I dreamed of it all again. It was as if I were living it once more, being punished over and over again for sins never meant to be committed. I saw those I loved torn apart, I felt their blood wash over me like a cursed rain. I heard their cries and could do nothing to help. The war raged on around me, but I was unable to do anything to affect my surroundings, as if I were a ghost in my own dream. I was trapped and helpless in this forsaken, Goddess cursed place, surrounded by death, war and madness. I was back in a place that no being should ever have to revisit, and for the first time in so very, very long, I was afraid.

I awoke with a scream in my throat, choking with the effort not to let it loose. The visions of my dreams still burned behind my eyes, and I shook as I rose from my bed. Why on earth, after all this time, would I be dreaming of this? I am seldom one to lose my composure, but to be forced to relive even a single second of that! Why these dreams would revisit me is beyond my understanding. I know they cannot be healed, but they can be sealed off, shuttered and forgotten, condemned to be sequestered and quarantined for the remainder of my days. Why have they broken free? What has happened to call them forth?

I cannot help but wonder, does this have anything to do with the woman child who has come into my life, the beautiful and strange girl called Annaleah? I can sense she has some sort of power, but it is so controlled. Is she even aware she possesses such ability, does she know how the air itself seems to hum around her, or am I simply seeing something that isn’t there? I wish I knew, but I am much too exhausted to contemplate it further.

I feel none the better for having written this, only more wearied. Perhaps I deserve this, for what I have done, or maybe for that which I did not do. If this is my punishment, then I shall bear it with dignity. It is the least I can do. For now, however, I must put this away and hope that the remainder of my night is without further event. My first day of classes will occur with or without me having had sound sleep, so for now I must finish this and hope that no more dreams come. Tomorrow will be difficult enough, training a new teacher, without me being sleep deprived and in a foul mood.

~SB~