Recent dreams. . .
The Senator stands in front of me. He is an older man, not elderly, but old enough to have iron-grey hair. He wears a blue suit. We're talking, perhaps debating, but the tone is generally friendly and non-confrontational.
A hummingbird swoops down between us, hovering in front of my face. Her body is white, her wings bright green, and her throat ruby red. She glistens and gleams.
She flies up and perches on the top of my head for a moment, then takes off and hovers in front of the Senator's face. He reaches up and takes hold of her, gently, but giving her a menacing look. I can feel the poor creature's fear.
He lets go of the hummingbird, and she falls to the ground, heart no longer beating.
I am filled with an indescribable rage, and jump at the Senator, railing at him with my fists, but the blows don't connect. I cannot touch him.
******************************************************
The Theatre is converted from an old water-mill, on a river, made out of rough-hewn beams of the darkest brown imaginable. It is beautiful, in an old-world sort of way, full of small rooms. I am in a room somewhere away from the house, somewhere away from the stage, in the back. There is not much light. A few people are in this room with me, people I know, but cannot quite name. They are all so familiar.
I hear a dripping, and look to another room, slightly farther back.
Water is falling from the ceiling, and I realize with a sense of impending doom and fear what is about to happen before it actually does.
The beams cave in, the walls and ceiling of the small (yet strangely lofty) room giving way under the weight of the river. I am pushed away, with the swell of the water, cold and heavy and unfightable.
The next I know, I am awake, and seemingly unharmed, albeit soaking wet. I get the sense that some time has passed. The Theatre is in ruins.
There is a dock nearby, on the river. It seems relatively unharmed. I see some other people standing on it and join them, getting a better look at the grassy field behind me. There are others out there. Some are moving, and slowly walking towards the small pier. Some still lie there, perhaps still passed out, perhaps dead. I cannot be sure.
But I am alive, and unhurt.
A hummingbird swoops down between us, hovering in front of my face. Her body is white, her wings bright green, and her throat ruby red. She glistens and gleams.
She flies up and perches on the top of my head for a moment, then takes off and hovers in front of the Senator's face. He reaches up and takes hold of her, gently, but giving her a menacing look. I can feel the poor creature's fear.
He lets go of the hummingbird, and she falls to the ground, heart no longer beating.
I am filled with an indescribable rage, and jump at the Senator, railing at him with my fists, but the blows don't connect. I cannot touch him.
******************************************************
The Theatre is converted from an old water-mill, on a river, made out of rough-hewn beams of the darkest brown imaginable. It is beautiful, in an old-world sort of way, full of small rooms. I am in a room somewhere away from the house, somewhere away from the stage, in the back. There is not much light. A few people are in this room with me, people I know, but cannot quite name. They are all so familiar.
I hear a dripping, and look to another room, slightly farther back.
Water is falling from the ceiling, and I realize with a sense of impending doom and fear what is about to happen before it actually does.
The beams cave in, the walls and ceiling of the small (yet strangely lofty) room giving way under the weight of the river. I am pushed away, with the swell of the water, cold and heavy and unfightable.
The next I know, I am awake, and seemingly unharmed, albeit soaking wet. I get the sense that some time has passed. The Theatre is in ruins.
There is a dock nearby, on the river. It seems relatively unharmed. I see some other people standing on it and join them, getting a better look at the grassy field behind me. There are others out there. Some are moving, and slowly walking towards the small pier. Some still lie there, perhaps still passed out, perhaps dead. I cannot be sure.
But I am alive, and unhurt.