The Unbroken

IV

I've never been good enough with creativity to come up with dreams, I normally just experience darkness, and it's rather peaceful. It's probably my fault that I don't have an expressive brain, I've never given it a chance to wind down due to constantly cramming it full of mandatory information that I need for my future.

It therefore isn't surprising that as soon as the medication kicks in everything just goes blank, leaving me on the cusp of reality. I'm being forced to sleep and my body doesn't know what to do about it, it doesn't know how to dream, I mainly just see black for a few hours before waking up and I doubt this will be any different.

I lazily just watch as the shadows light then fade as I move between the depths of my subconscious. The anaesthetic is trying to push me further into the bleakness of my brain. It feels like I'm waiting for a sunrise that will never arrive, desperate to wake up again instead of trying to watch a self-created TV show.

Impossibly, a picture forms. Although it's still inky, I can somewhat make out the distant shapes of uncertain objects. All I can tell is that they are growing closer to my mind's eye. They are a little bit blurry, slightly fuzzy around the edges, but are still clear enough to be made out. A few hesitant steps turn into swift jogs as I travel towards them, watching as they turn into clear, solid images; the forms of thick, tall trees.

However, they are far too realistic for a dream. Every detail is intricately designed, every dip and rough edge is coarse under the softness of my palm. Objects in dreams are meant to feel like passing your hand through a ghost, not like an actual item from the real world. In dreams nothing is real and to tell the difference you need to know what to look for. Yet, the rough wood is biting into my flesh, leaving stinging splinters.

Above me, in the branches, owls are shrieking or hissing whilst they hunt and look out for mice to munch on. There's the quiet sound of timid scurrying feet as the small creatures attempt to flee from their hungry predators. Unsubtle, their fearful scampering has the crunching of leaves alerting the beautiful winged animals on the location of their meals.

Amongst all of the sweet sounds of nature is a deep, aggravated growl erupting from behind me. The surrounding air catches in my throat, causing me to cough as panic rises in my stomach. The anxiety has me feeling sick, close to hunching over and retching. The threat in the abrupt sound has my heart racing, the rhythmic thumps gradually turning into one continuous hammering as it beats quickly in my tight chest.

My teeth grit together, my jaw tense around them, capturing my lip between the clenched body parts. I can feel the skin splitting, the thin flesh ripping apart from itself - a familiar warm liquid spilling onto my tongue, making me cringe at the horrid taste as it trails down my taste buds towards my stomach.

My legs are trembling beneath me, the way they're quivering might result in falling over if I don't support myself against the tree like a life support. My hands are shaking against it, the nails occasionally clawing into the bark out of fear, bouncing on and off of the wood as they vibrate - my body is running automatically. I have no control over the commencing actions of fright that has my body reacting so erratically.

Another distinct howl brings my attention back to the situation in the now. Turning around, I come face to face with a pained, uncomfortable wolf. The poor thing looks ready to collapse and fall into a fit of uncontrollable tears. My heart has never given out for such a thing, but the little baby looks so broken and helpless. I just want to wrap my arms around the neck of the rugged beauty.

A single step forward causes the scene to play out in front of me. The boy moves his muzzle up into the air and across the ground a few times before trotting over to the back of a large oak, glancing over at me for a mere second before continuing in his trail. I feel as though I recognise the actions, and feel myself being drawn to follow him behind the trunk of the tree.