Dreamcatcher
Dreamland
It was some kind of unexplainable feeling; floating almost, that weightlessness that comes in the fraction of time between reality and dreamland, minutes merging into hours that are really only seconds. There is no time, no thought, no coherency. Nothing is everything and everything is nothing; the very air you breathe is like gossamer, delicate and silky, hanging over you like a veil, translucent and comforting.
It’s then, when you’re wrapped in that mesh of near-invisible fibres, oblivious and vulnerable and oh so serene that your senses shut down almost completely; that very moment when you’re bordering on the edge of everything and nothing, reality and dreamland, that I’ll take you.
You won’t realise what is happening at first; too lost in the almost euphoric bliss of almost slumber that you’ll think that weightless feeling is just dreamland claiming you again, pulling you back into a world all of your own creation.
It will creep up on you slowly. You’ll start to notice something isn’t quite right, that your thoughts are becoming clearer, more vivid and coherent as they swirl in your head in a tangled web of sleep laden confusion.
You’ll become aware that the floating feeling isn’t leaving; your brain ticking over, thoughts coming in stronger all the time as you slip from that space between dreamland, slipping further and further into something, somewhere; some place that still isn’t quite tangible.
It’ll hit you then; slam into you as a tidal wave of realisation crashes over your pretty little head, all thought gone out that window as you open your mouth in that silent scream, words lost as that gossamer veil becomes jagged metal, rusted and suffocating, crushing the air from your lungs.
It’s always that scream that intrigues me the most. No matter how much one person differs from another; be it appearance, personality or just that aura everyone gives off, they all react the same. The same panic, same confusion, same irrational thought and silent scream that will never be heard. They were sheep, all of them. Pawns that could be used and confused and disposed of in an instant.
You’re still now. Olive eyes large with fear and bewilderment, small hands clutching at everything and nothing, the floor like cobwebs beneath your trembling form. You don’t understand, you probably never will. But those eyes are your saviour tonight, crystal and hypnotic, filled with a tantalising innocence that is rare in children and near impossible to find in adults.
I leave you there, on that blanket of gossamer, knowing that the silky texture will soothe you into a dreamless slumber.
I wasn’t sure what possessed people to hang entwined willow and feathers and thread above their children’s beds, believing that something so small and fragile could keep nightmares away. But they worked, no matter how much people often thought it was just knowing it was there that kept their children safe.
Dreamcatchers might kept the nightmares out, but they let the demons in.
It’s then, when you’re wrapped in that mesh of near-invisible fibres, oblivious and vulnerable and oh so serene that your senses shut down almost completely; that very moment when you’re bordering on the edge of everything and nothing, reality and dreamland, that I’ll take you.
You won’t realise what is happening at first; too lost in the almost euphoric bliss of almost slumber that you’ll think that weightless feeling is just dreamland claiming you again, pulling you back into a world all of your own creation.
It will creep up on you slowly. You’ll start to notice something isn’t quite right, that your thoughts are becoming clearer, more vivid and coherent as they swirl in your head in a tangled web of sleep laden confusion.
You’ll become aware that the floating feeling isn’t leaving; your brain ticking over, thoughts coming in stronger all the time as you slip from that space between dreamland, slipping further and further into something, somewhere; some place that still isn’t quite tangible.
It’ll hit you then; slam into you as a tidal wave of realisation crashes over your pretty little head, all thought gone out that window as you open your mouth in that silent scream, words lost as that gossamer veil becomes jagged metal, rusted and suffocating, crushing the air from your lungs.
It’s always that scream that intrigues me the most. No matter how much one person differs from another; be it appearance, personality or just that aura everyone gives off, they all react the same. The same panic, same confusion, same irrational thought and silent scream that will never be heard. They were sheep, all of them. Pawns that could be used and confused and disposed of in an instant.
You’re still now. Olive eyes large with fear and bewilderment, small hands clutching at everything and nothing, the floor like cobwebs beneath your trembling form. You don’t understand, you probably never will. But those eyes are your saviour tonight, crystal and hypnotic, filled with a tantalising innocence that is rare in children and near impossible to find in adults.
I leave you there, on that blanket of gossamer, knowing that the silky texture will soothe you into a dreamless slumber.
I wasn’t sure what possessed people to hang entwined willow and feathers and thread above their children’s beds, believing that something so small and fragile could keep nightmares away. But they worked, no matter how much people often thought it was just knowing it was there that kept their children safe.
Dreamcatchers might kept the nightmares out, but they let the demons in.