Insight

Small windows lined the tall gray hand laid stonewalls. Darkness lingered behind most, while soft orbs of light illuminated others. There was no grass, trees, or sign of birds or any other life beyond the hopeless people all dressed in long black cloaks. Everything was controlled and uniform. The absence of color, music, and laughter was almost as petrifying as the emptiness in their dark eyes.

I walked closer. The weight was reaching a degree of unbearable pain. The one who had called me was close.

Why did it have to hurt? I tried to push away the invisible force that was torturing me, but my efforts were in vain, just as they always have been.

The arguing was coming from one of the small windows on the first level. A man was yelling as a woman cried out. On the front steps, I saw a little boy. He looked to be five or six. He was the first one I'd seen here that gave me pause, a sense a familiarity. It was his eyes—they were blue, almost clear.

He stared blankly into the darkness, but I was almost sure I saw the tiniest grin touch the edge of his lips, as if he sensed me, and knew it was going be all right now.

His hair was long and messy. The clothes he was wearing were tattered and dirty. Every instinct I had told me to grab him and run—wake us both up in my safe world. But that was nothing short of impossible. Putting my resentment for this dream, and how helpless it made me feel, I sat down next to him and placed my hand on the small of his back.

I had no idea how I did what I did. It was like breathing, letting my heartbeat; I was born with an extra sense that I constantly struggled to fit into my life. It wasn't fun feeling emotions of others. To know that even if I was having the best day in the world, one sad person in my path could pull me into their world of darkness. It made me feel out of control, like I didn't have permission to be my own person.

It was different in dreams like these.

Here, I only felt one, and it was one that a single touch and focused thought, wrapped in emotion, could help. I could make them feel like I did. I could change the course for us both.

There was no way I was going to let this little boy feel any of the terror I was wrangling with as I searched for him.

Instead, I thought of how happy he could be if he were only given some sense of being loved. How abundant he would feel if he could be the center of some lucky parents' world. The little boy dropped his eyes as he felt me. Oddly, his emotion shifted to regret and sorrow. Not understanding, I focused on peace. His emotion slowly gave in to mine, bringing a sense of tranquility into him. I wanted to give him happiness, but my time there was coming to an end.

Silence came.

The little boy vanished, as the people on the street did. The wind whistled through the barren, cold walls. Now, I could only hear my violent heartbeat.

I stood, bracing myself for what I knew would happen.

A tall, dark figure emerged from the shadows, his contemptuous laugh echoing through the darkness.

He's been in every nightmare I've ever had, taunting me, trying to force me to succumb to him. His face is always hidden by the darkness. The dragon tattooed on the inside of his arm told me he was the same one. This figure was once a child, but now, both teens, we played the game that brought only him pleasure.

He crept closer to me, laughing under his breath. He then reached for me. I knew from my previous nightmares that a burning white light was about to push right through me. I crossed my hands in front of my face, blocking the surge of light.

When the light didn't come, I slowly lowered my hands. The figure was standing just in front of me. I still couldn't see his face, but I could feel his eyes searching over me. He grasped my wrist, where I have a tattoo of an Ankh, a beautiful cross that opens at the top with a loop. My instinct was to pull away, but I could not make my mind and body agree. With his touch, I felt a hypnotizing, warm sensation that eased through my wrist, up my arm, and circled through my body taking the weight off my chest. His thumb traced over the cross.