Silver Lining

He spoke in a way that was incoherent.
Strangely, it felt as though my surroundings were neither in color, nor in monochrome. Neither black, nor white. It seemed dark, yet I couldn’t quite settle on a correct shade-- or whatever it was. I was never left with enough time to mull over what, or where I was before the figure revealed itself to me.

Though I visited this place many times throughout my life, it felt distant, and new to me, still. I knew this person who stood before me. This man--I figured--haunted me every night though it was only this night that he opened his mouth and spoke to me. Shortly after he finished his first statement, he spoke again, and again I couldn’t make out his words. It was as if they were tumbling over each other; coarse then smooth during some intervals-- at least that was what I picked up from reading his lips. The sounds I heard sounded far from what his mouth formed, more like a hushed slurring.

I couldn’t make out his face just as I never had, though when he finished his second statement it felt as though he was disappointed that I was unable to understand him. I felt a twinge of guilt after realizing that my stupid mind made this person feel bad, and then instinctively, I reached out for the man in my effort to apologize for my lack of knowledge. Abruptly, the scenery changed and the pale, cloaked man had disappeared.

He had invaded my dreams more than enough for me to notice that he donned a dark cloak, which concealed whatever it was that he hid. Sometimes he would drape the hood of his cloak over his head, nearly covering his eyes.

He had come to me many times, and though he never had any distinguishing features that I could remember. Just his pale skin, and cloak which he wore every time he visited me. The only differences would be how close or far he was from me, or whether he had his hood on, or not. Usually, it would just be me watching him, and he would watch me back, forcing us to just stand there for what seemed to be eternity, until my dream would yawn in boredom and shift scenes. Other times, I would watch him pace slowly through the dark room. While he walked, I would notice the translucent glow that flowed behind him, especially the bright white his pale skin left behind. It seemed to look like bits of him were being left behind as he walked slowly, in and out of the slow-moving world that was my dream.

Shifting my attention to where I was now, I realized that I sat atop a hill with tall, soft grass that brushed against me while it danced along with the wind. On lower ground there was nothing, just the long grass that seemed to sway in unison, and a scrawny tree or two. It struck me as odd how the golden grass seemed to flourish, while the --supposedly--once beautiful, tall trees withered. Maybe there used to be many more trees, but seeing how the remaining ones are now, they probably withered and died long ago.

My dream was interrupted by the creaking sound my door gave when it was opened slowly, forcing my eyelids open as I shot out of bed and sat upright; ready and waiting for whoever it was that entered. I was always a really light sleeper, and it came in handy plenty of times.