A Collection of Dreams

The concert was to be played in Kiev, a spectacle that many of the city's richer folk paid good money to see. Lights dazzled and focused on the pianists, the flutists, and the harpists of the modern youth. The new generation of classical musicians. It was a festival of talent, and each performer displayed just that. Talent.

Words, Ukrainian whispers of good fortune and luck seemed to echo as she stood still. The clock told her it was seven fifty eight. She went on at eight. The minutes were agonizing, with each tick seeming to inch her closer to her demise. The light of the stage, which the girl could see from where she stood, was far, but with each tick of the clock she was shuffled closer. Seven fifty nine, and her father was adjusting the red tie on the collar of her dress. He looked into her eyes, and she into his, and the clock struck eight.

Silence was terrifying. It was and always will be. The excited murmurs, the relieved sighs of past performers. The chitchat of celloists, the sound of an excited crowd. When the clock hit eight, sounds all vanished. The girl seemed deaf, she seemed robbed of this sound. She sauntered to the stage with a professional posture, like father taught her. Cameras flashed, but she didn't hear them. The quietude had followed her. Her hands shook and her palms perspirated under the white lace gloves that decorated them. She raised her instrument, a mahogany violin, and only when she began to play did her world regain sound. The sweet vibration, the wondrous music that came from that mahogany violin. It reflected on years of practice, years of hard work, years of determination. The notes it made bounced off each wall of the orchestra hall, it reached the ears of those listening, and it resonated. The song it played was beautiful, enough to cease conversation within the crowd. People were guided along the journey that the girl was taking them on, captivated by the story in which the violin told with each stroke of its strings. In the face of nervousness, in the face of a thousand faces, the girl played that violin. And she played it well.

As she concluded the piece, an eruption of applause was aroused throughout the audience, louder than any other preceding it. A rose was thrown in the girl's direction, and it fell with such a serene grace. She wanted to pick it up, but she kept posture. She lowered her instrument and waved to the crowd, palms no longer sweating and hands no longer quivering. Her walk off the stage was that of accomplishment, her stature that of confidence. The girl was greeted by her father's warm embrace. "I'm proud of you" were the words he said.

But as soon as this was said, she woke up.

The clock beside her bed read seven fifty eight, and she rose from her sleep. It was a dream, a common occurance for the girl. The concert did not go as her mind portrayed as she slept. The girl never met an embrace.

With a wistful sigh, a longing for another try, the girl placed her feet on the floor and rose to a stand. She was doomed to relive that moment over and over, in a desperate attempt to redo what she had done wrong.

And that rose. That damn rose. It sat on her nightstand, ever so gracefully, as if placed there the night prior. She had too many roses, too many tries. But only one try mattered. The clock struck eight.

She awoke to find herself in a cave. It was alive with a blue light, its only source of illumination. What was making this light? She did not know for sure at first, but as she arose from the stone ground and stood shakily, she uncovered the mystery. Butterflies, thousands of them, lined the walls of the cave. Their wings were beacons, azure in their glow, lighthouses that seemed to lead her ashore. She discovered that her attire consisted of a simple white gown. She was barefooted, the ground feeling cold and moist under her toes. Nevertheless, she walked forward to inspect the butterflies, to see the biological phenomenon of their luminescence. However, they began to fly away, first one by one, then more began to follow. She covered her face, her eyes, as the glowing horde of insects passed by her, leaving her in the dark.

No, she could not see without them. She began running chasing the light, but every time she picked up speed, so did the cluster of butterflies. Their infinite energy did not exist in her, so as they flew on, she had no choice but to catch her breath. The girl was blind, and this scared her. It scared her more than it should have, and as soon as she mustered the energy once more, she ran forward. Immediately she collided with the wall. She landed on the icy floor with a thud. Blood trickled from her forehead and to her eyes. She was permanently disoriented. Was she still lying on the floor, or had she stood up? The air was cold, the floor was cold. She began not being able to tell the difference. No matter how much she strained her eyes, she could not see the hands in front of her face, the jutting walls around her. She brought her knees forth and found them with her arms, hugging them and sobbing bitterly. She was trapped in this cave, abandoned by those wretched butterflies. How did she get there?

After regaining her emotional stability, she rose her eyes from behind her knees. She saw a light off in the distance.

She rose from her sitting position, slowly and shakily. She carefully put her foot forward. That was when she fell, fell into the darkness below her. There was no ground. There was never a ground.

She awoke with a jolt, a whimper, eyes blurry with tears. It took her a moment to calm down, but as she did, she checked for a gift on the nightstand. On it was a dead butterfly, its wings a brilliant blue.

The clock sounded as it struck eight.

The harbor was one that the girl had never seen before. The water was colorless, but at the same time not clear. No, it stole color from the sky, reflecting its oranges and its blues as the sun set over the horizon. There were no boats. Where was she? She looked down, seeing herself in some sort of sailor's uniform. It seemed dated. Since when was she a sailor? A gust of wind blew, the hat from her head flying to join the air as it reached towards the sky. However, the hat was heavy and did not maintain the gracefulness of the air. It fell into the water.

A voice in the girl's head urged her.
Get it.
You need your hat.
Retrieve it.
And so the girl dove into the water, the mirror, the sky, in pursuit of her hat. It was no where to be seen, and there were no fish as well. Where was everything? She seemed to be the only living thing, the only being. She felt lonely, and the dream wished to satisfy this. She longed to see fish, and so fish appeared. They were giant fish, molded from the coral. Their scales were a magnificent amber, painted from the rocks and mounds and molded into the sea creatures. There were dozens upon dozens appearing before her, borrowing themselves from the sea floor. She was scared, but she had to find her hat. That was all that mattered to the voice in her head.

And so, the girl dived further into the stunningly clear sea, and discovered her hat in some sand. She stole it back from the grasps of the earth, and looked up to watch the fish as they swam over her. They casted shadows over her, darkening her view of the setting sun. However, she was no longer afraid. They were beautiful. Their bodies shimmered, their black eyes stared in neutral contentment. Hat in her right hand, the girl swam up to meet one. It showed no hostility, even when she latched onto its fin. She rode the creature, a part of a massive school of massive fish, as it journeyed away from the harbor. Further into the sea. It was a blissful journey, a journey that brought peace to the girl. That was when she remembered. Oxygen, she needed oxygen to breath. Yes, one could not breathe under water. It was then that she felt her lungs start to ache and saw the bubbles escape her lips. Oh, but the surface was so far! She released her grip from the fish, abandoning the school, and began to swim upwards. She kicked her legs and forced herself upwards through the aqua. However, the surface failed to reach her. The girl's lungs ached. She screamed, but no sound escaped. At her capacity, she had no choice but to attempt a breath. Water filled her lungs. She choked, falling into the sea. Her vision blurred. The water rushed into her airways. It hurt, drowning hurt.

She awoke with a sharp intake of breath, one that roused a vocal shriek. Breathing lungfuls of sweet air and cherishing it as her last, she finally calmed down and glanced at her nightstand. There was a fish, flailing mercilessly as it too suffocated. It was like her, a creature outside of its biome. So outside, that it lacked the ability to respirate. It was helpless.

The clock sounded as it struck eight.

She found herself in a forest, a winter phantasma that was overtaken by whiteness. The snow was only but a foot in depth, yet it was everywhere, decorating the shrubberies and trees that surrounded her. Deer trudged through the snow gently in the distance, and powder fell from the occasional branch from above. The girl stared at the scenery before her, admiring it as best as she could with simple vision. However, as most of her dreams played out, a problem reared its head. With a stinging gust of wind, the girl shrank in pain. It was cold, so bitterly cold. She wore but a tanktop, resembling the attire that she choose for the previous day in reality. It was not suitable clothing for the weather, so the girl trekked on in her flimsy sneakers, which were not snow boots in the slightest. She did not know where she was going, but there had to be something out there. She hugged her bare arms as the air got colder and colder. The icy air froze her from the inside with each intake of breath. She coughed, desperately searching for something to use for warmth.

There was a deer in front of her, clopping around in the snow and picking some berries off of a small bush. Its fur looked so warm. The girl stared it down, lusting for the fur as her teeth chattered violently. She needed to have it. Without thinking clearly, she lunged for the deer, wrestling with it as she fought to grab its neck. Fought to break it. This, however, proved futile. The dream did not side with her desires, but rather realistic facts, and so the deer threw her into the snow, running off in fright with a mouthful of berries. The girl lay there, freezing and prepared to die. She needed to wake up, and this was the only way.

As she lay dying, however, the girl noticed something. Was that a building? Yes, out of the corner of her eye and no more than a dozen yards from where she fell, a cabin was constructed. She could have sworn it was not there before, but not willing to argue, the girl hopped up and used her remaining strength to pull herself inside of the wooden refuge. The door was unlocked, the fireplace burning. No one was home.

And so she practically crawled to the fire, warming her arms by rubbing them from shoulder to elbow. As she regained heat, she found peace within herself, a steady breath and a steady mind. Perhaps she could make it out of this dream peacefully, without any worries. She closed her eyes, preparing to awaken in the real world.

When you are against your own mind, it is unwise to challenge it as such.

Footfalls erupted. To describe these as footfalls was an understatement, as the girl was disturbed by tremors in the ground. The fire danced nervously with each tremor, and the girl shook. Gradually, as the tremors grew closer, the fire puffed out. Ice began to form on the walls, beginning at the door. The crystals inched around the cabin, consuming its interior with ice so that it resembled a frozen hell. The tremors were on top of her now, at a volume of incredible sonority. They were so loud that they seemed to no longer rise in volume. They stayed at one earsplitting height, enough to make the girl feel as if a giant was stamping in one place over the ice-filled home.

Then it stopped. Silence. Not even breeze blew as the footsteps reached a halt. The girl breathed out shakily, looking around the cabin for something. Anything. Then, she looked to the door. It was still closed, but as she did, a voice caused a chill to rake up her spine, colder than any breeze that rattled her during the lucid sequence.

Get out of my house.

The door exploded open. Ru awoke in a dead fright, as the cold of the dream met the warmth of the summer air. She hugged the blankets beside her, cherishing their warmth. She was still trembling, weeping softly into the blankets in fear and relief. She didn't even bother to look at the mound of snow on her nightstand, melting rapidly and creating a puddle the size of a coaster ring.

The clock sounded as it struck eight.

They danced. They hummed. When the girl arose, she first direction she peered in was upwards. The buildings that surrounded her were taller than she could perceive, reaching into the edges of her vision and grazing the sky with their topmost pillars. They were as distant as the sounds farthest from her ears, cars beeping and whirring along some crowded street. It seemed like ages since she had seen a metropolis, and it was a refreshing atmosphere.

They danced. They hummed. The girl would have burst from her scenery, an alleyway of sorts. Liquids dripped from an unseen place above, and the girl could not tell if it was precipitation or something much more unsanitary. She wanted to escape the dark, musty corridor, to walk amongst the people of downtown wherever. However, she could not. Shrouded faced children blocked her. They danced, they hummed, they encircled her and skipped with adjoined hands. They were humming an unrecognizable hymn. The girl looked around at them silently, seeing that they had no faces. Rather, she could not see any faces. The children each had masks, simplistic masks with circular eyes and jagged, contorted smile. The masks were colored in bright shades, each one differing in color from another. The girl tried to speak, to ask them to move, but she couldn't. She opened her mouth and silence captured the words she meant to say.

They danced. They hummed. The girl became peeved. She stepped to one of the links, one of the areas where fingers joined together, and attempted to disassemble them. The children said nothing. They stopped spinning. They waited for her to break the chain. And once she did, they began crying. In unison, they each sobbed loudly and bitterly. The girl looked at each one once more, seeing the faces on the masks shedding tears. The twisted smiles that adorned each were now wretched frowns. The girl became frightened. In fear, rather than escaping, she sought to win their approval. She took the small hands of the children she separated, and they stopped sobbing. In the moments she looked away, the masks regained their smiles. They began to spin once more, and the girl was now joining them.

They danced. They hummed. The girl was having a surprisingly good time. She laughed with the children, who laughed back. She felt her face stick that way, in the giggling expression. It surely was enjoyable, and she couldn't stop. She felt her face slowly harden, she felt herself losing herself under a new wooden face. She did not care, however. Spinning was so fun, so carefree. She awoke to a final sound of the childrens' giggling, and a chill crept up her spine. She touched her face, tracing the groove of her nose and poking at her lips. It was normal, she was normal. Sighing with relief and checking her nightstand, she found a mask. Her mask.

She danced. She hummed. She gained a new face, a wooden one with simple, circular eyes and a jagged, twisted smile. It resembled a jack-o-lantern's visage, and was painted in a bright blue. A new face.

The clock sounded as it struck eight.