dream
I have a recurring dream that, for some reason, freaks the hell out of Ethan. I had it again last night.
A bit of explanation in the way of prologue. Have you ever seen a blooming cherry or apple tree that's been coated in ice after a spring storm? The ice damage turns the pink petals a dark red, and the color change and the glisten of the ice make the trees look like they're dripping blood. I've only seen it once, but the image had haunted me my entire life.
In the dream, I'm traveling through a maze of stone corridors. Sometimes I'm walking, sometimes I'm running, but the environment is always the same: dark medieval-looking corridors intermittently lit by candles in sconces and narrow windows made of diamond-shaped pieces of opaque, bubbly glass leaded together. I'm wearing a heavy dress of blue brocade and my hair is bound up under a veil.
(In my dreams I always have long hair, waist-length or longer. My hair has not been that long since second grade.)
I move through the corridors, choosing left and right turns at random. There are little tables and niches here and there, and I often stop and examine objects; sometimes I will pick one up and carry it for a while, only to exchange it at the next place I stop. Little boxes of carved wood; a heavy gold cup; books or scrolls; a wickedly sharp-looking knife.
Eventually I pass through a door into a tiny courtyard. There are the bleeding trees and snow all around, with ice-coated petals falling randomly. I walk out under one of the trees and watch bemusedly as the petals start to fall on my dress, sticking to the brocade. At one point, I look up and realize there's a dead man hanging by his ankles in a tree. As the body sways in the slight breeze I see his hands were tied behind his back before he was hauled up into the tree. He had been badly beaten, massively bruised and he's bleeding from many cuts. I don't recognize him; the ice-covered petals from the trees masked him and his blooddrops until I looked up.
The last image from the dream is of me kneeling in the snow while the corpse continues to drip blood onto my dress, my hair, my face. It's a feeling of horror.
I suppose after having the same dream for ten or so years running the horror wears off. The odd thing for me is that Ethan also had a dream about blood last night.
A bit of explanation in the way of prologue. Have you ever seen a blooming cherry or apple tree that's been coated in ice after a spring storm? The ice damage turns the pink petals a dark red, and the color change and the glisten of the ice make the trees look like they're dripping blood. I've only seen it once, but the image had haunted me my entire life.
In the dream, I'm traveling through a maze of stone corridors. Sometimes I'm walking, sometimes I'm running, but the environment is always the same: dark medieval-looking corridors intermittently lit by candles in sconces and narrow windows made of diamond-shaped pieces of opaque, bubbly glass leaded together. I'm wearing a heavy dress of blue brocade and my hair is bound up under a veil.
(In my dreams I always have long hair, waist-length or longer. My hair has not been that long since second grade.)
I move through the corridors, choosing left and right turns at random. There are little tables and niches here and there, and I often stop and examine objects; sometimes I will pick one up and carry it for a while, only to exchange it at the next place I stop. Little boxes of carved wood; a heavy gold cup; books or scrolls; a wickedly sharp-looking knife.
Eventually I pass through a door into a tiny courtyard. There are the bleeding trees and snow all around, with ice-coated petals falling randomly. I walk out under one of the trees and watch bemusedly as the petals start to fall on my dress, sticking to the brocade. At one point, I look up and realize there's a dead man hanging by his ankles in a tree. As the body sways in the slight breeze I see his hands were tied behind his back before he was hauled up into the tree. He had been badly beaten, massively bruised and he's bleeding from many cuts. I don't recognize him; the ice-covered petals from the trees masked him and his blooddrops until I looked up.
The last image from the dream is of me kneeling in the snow while the corpse continues to drip blood onto my dress, my hair, my face. It's a feeling of horror.
I suppose after having the same dream for ten or so years running the horror wears off. The odd thing for me is that Ethan also had a dream about blood last night.