Dreams of a World Since Destroyed

This is a representation of a dream I actually had a few nights ago. I have always had a respectable streak of admiration for wolves and the natural world, this story encompasses these emotions.

I never come properly prepared for anything. My mother is already griping about my choice in flip flops for a 4 hour tour. She's generally correct, but I have a theory that she has a tendency to jinx me. I've already lost one in the rushing crowd and am now forced to limp quickly along on damp, sticky floors. I nervously laugh at my mother's 'I told you this would happen' speech and reassure her that I am extremely shoeless resistant. I go bare foot all the time. “It's great. So, so great.” I keep this up until it's time to take a washroom break and I am immediately sorry that I didn't wear the insoled Nikes my mother wanted me to. The cold stone walls drip under the pressure of the immense amount of sweaty bodies that are now piling single file into the only bathroom for another hour of the tour. My cheeks adopt a bright shade of red while I lean awkwardly against the wall, lifting my shoeless foot like a flamingo. A group of girls stare wildly at me like I am some sort of rare, injured animal. This would happen to me, I'm not exactly prone to being the outcast " but, for some reason, I never seem to be used to it. My mother doesn't help my case by yelling through the stall door at me “you know we should just ask if someone...you know, has an extra shoe or something.” I cover my face hoping she will stop there, but knowing my mother it won't end until I say something. “Evy? Eve? Did you hear me? Why don't we just -”

“Yes! Mother... I heard what you said. Can we discuss it when you come out please?” Now that I am embarrassed and annoyed I see a bleak afternoon ahead of me. Some parents understand social ques, mine lives in a world where nobody else but her exists. The insane part is that I am sure she will swindle a pair of shoes for me. It's her magically insensitive way of getting things done.

As we carry on through a dimly-lit corridor a man dressed in a polyester suit with a wilted fake flower on his lapel discusses the importance of such corridor. It's a gorgeous old dungeon but my mind tends to wander. I imagine what it must have been like for " whoever we are supposed to be learning about " to walk through these halls and be completely immersed in their lives. There was probably some sort of religious hierarchy that decided who would be punished and who would live in decadence. They would have lavish balls and epic battles. We have stopped at an old pair of guns, they are gorgeous " I'll give him that. I wouldn't give a single thing to live back then. I like my generation, what with the seemingly intelligent leaps and bounds towards knowing the difference between magic and science. We have our faults, of course, but at least people aren't being hung for eating the wrong kind of bread. Not to mention: soap. Must I say more?

We are now approaching a narrow, stone spiral stair case. We are told to go two at a time and wait at the top for the guide, who in my head I am now calling Herb - he just looks like the kind of person who becomes their name. He stands stiffly at the entrance, directing two individuals with swift hand gestures towards the steps. He thinks he's being professional but he's coming off as completely pretentious. Finally, it's our turn and he begins to wave us in until he notices my shoeless foot and shoots me a grimaced look of disgust. “I like your flower.” I say sarcastically through a cocked grin and begin to climb the steps barefoot-first, still smiling at Herb's stunned expression. As we ascend far into the stairwell my vision begins to blur, I limp up another step but I can feel myself slow down. I'm fine, keep moving. The air feels thin and unobtainable as I begin to gasp through a wide mouth. Breath. I feel my mother's hand on my shoulder but I slip away from it and fall seamlessly through the air. I feel light and safe until there is nothing and I am gone.

I'm standing by a bay window sobbing quietly and wiping my tears with an embroidered handkerchief. The daylight is beaming through the glass of the window, pushing beads of sweat from my brow. I can't quite grasp why I am sad so I simply stand and narrow my gaze on something outside. There are multiple blurry objects moving quickly on the grass, I am worried for them. My hand flies up suddenly and hits the panelling, sounding a loud bang. I feel a deep desperation, yet I do nothing but sob and scream. I am now screaming inaudibly, the shrill emanates through the corridors of my home; but, I hear nothing. Everything blurs around me, colours melt together as if creating a beautiful Monet right before my eyes. As quickly as they blurred they morph into bright red lights coming in and out of focus. Shouting bounds through the distance, yet it is too far for me to be concerned. Is it shouting or howling? It's so far away until it's not and everything snaps back.

My eyes open abruptly and I take a quick gasp of air. “What the f**k?” are the first words out of my mouth, like I've just woken up from a drunken state and someone has startled me. I notice my mother crouching next to me with a hand over her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. We are in a moving car, a very loud moving car " a man is hovering over me asking me about his fingers. I am genuinely confused and stare blankly at his hand. I try to ask what his objective is in the matter, but instead of sounding eloquent I blurt out “what to do?”. His concerned eyes get further from mine as he flies backwards through the dark. I want to put a hand out to grab him, but I can't move.

What is happening to me?

I wake up on the floor, my large velvet dress is crumpled all around me in a beautiful mess. My legs are stretched into a 'v' allowing my undergarments to show openly - I am not concerned. Depression has a hold of me and I can only stare at the ceiling as unconcealed tears fall into my hair. How dare they? Is all that my mind will allow me to ponder. They are animals, nay are less than animals. At least animals have a reason to kill. I will not allow this kind of behaviour to continue on my property, whether the Doctor permits it or not. I wipe my tears, brush down my dress vigorously and jump onto my feet. They will be brought the proper justice. Determined in my new conquest I stomp from my room and into the long, carpeted hallway. I know what I need to do and I will follow through for the sanctity of those poor souls. I turn sharply on my heel towards a big, dark mahogany door at the end of the hall leading to the prison chamber. As I approach it I stare sharply at the lock that binds it and dig around in my bodice for the key. It takes but three seconds for me to retrieve it and slip it into the mouth of the lock. It has been ages since I've been in these quarters, but the nature of my aggression gives me the courage to take a step into the black stone spiral staircase. The smell of musty water fills my nostrils and as I climb further down the stairs the faint scent of death starts to ascend. I continue to push through the stench until darkness surrounds me once again, my vision blurs and I fall onto the damp floor of the dungeon.

Beep

...

Beep

...

Beep

...

Beep

...

No.

I know where I am immediately. This isn't my first time at the rodeo, or in my life the nearest General Hospital. Nothing like the scent of anaesthetics in the morning. That's what I always say.

I take a moment to open my eyes, I know my worried mother is somewhere in the room praying for me to wake, I need to prepare myself. I feel a bit rough, most likely from a fall, but I'm intensely nauseous from the morphine drip. I let out a groaned maaa and begin to peel back my heavy eye lids. I say ma one more time with clarity as I start to thaw my subconscious and step into reality. But, nobody replies. She could be away for coffee or some salubrious hospital food.

As I scan the room I notice that the decor is not like other hospitals " there is a Baroque-style painting above an antique dresser on an adjacent wall, the window panelling is dark wood, and the floors seem to creak as a nurse enters the room.

“How are you feeling, darling?” she says calmly as I attempt to lift my head to face her. “Oh, ya know. On top of the world.” I lied. She assured me that I would be feeling “ship-shape” with time, but my fall and birth defected heart made this hospital trip worse than the others. I believe her, I'm starting to realize that my nausea is the effect of a nasty head wound. I ask her hazily where my mother went off to, but instead of answering me she injects a needle into my drip and I slowly drift off again.

I push myself off of the grotesque ground and sloppily wipe my hands on the drape of my gown. My dishevelled hair falls into my eyes, I exhale a sharp breath to get it off of my face and take a weak step forward. It is exceedingly dark down here so I search for a torch to light. After finding one and igniting the flame I head to the western wall with a determined limp. My heart is beating hard in my corset bound chest so I'm inclined to take small, quick breaths. Beads of cold sweat form under my chin and quickly burrow in my breasts. I stand before a rack made of buck hoofs, on each rung hangs an assortment of carbines and muskets. Not quite my style. I turn swiftly on a heel and scan the walls, stopping suddenly. Perfect. Two gorgeous Flintlock pistols shine in the glow of my torch. Lifting their holster off of the peg in the wall, I sling them over my shoulder and carry on towards the tunnel leading out of the castle. Limping along in wet corridors, rats flee from my movement and flame, I take turn after turn trying to remember how to exit into the garden. Right behind them. They wont see me coming.

The air is beginning to thicken with humidity, I must be getting close. Finally. A short ladder leading to a light-lined wooden door comes into focus. I drop my torch and climb the steps, sliding the bolt over and pushing the double doors open. I take a deep breath as sunlight baths me and clean oxygen fills my lungs. I climb onto the grass and lay for a moment, breathing heavily. Get up. I clutch my chest in attempt to even my breathing, knowing full-well what would happen if I couldn't get it under control. My priorities lift me onto my feet once more and I hop along towards square shrubs and rose bushes that surround a lavish garden.

Making my way to the back of the castle, still concealed by the wall of shrubs. I narrow my gaze on two men and begin to seethe. They lift lifeless bodies onto the boot of a carriage as if they are bags of potatoes. Not on my property. I pull the pistols swiftly from the holster and step into their view, limping rapidly towards them.

“If I may...” I begin. They both turn their attention to me and a coy smile curls upon their faces. “If I were you I would wipe those cocky smirks off of your face.” I said as I raised the two pistols to their eye level. Their smiles quickly faded and they corrected their stance to form a defensive line. “Now that I have gotten your attention I have a few words to say. Please pay close attention because I will not be repeating myself. Understand?” The look of shock smeared across their face, a women has never acted so cavalier towards them. I'm going to enjoy this.

“Now, let me tell you a story about the creatures you have destroyed in my yard this afternoon " despite the clear warning I had given you. They were not savage beasts, they were a family. They bared their souls openly to a bond no human could understand. To witness this sort of bond would be considered a privilege to the educated eye. But you, you ignorant beings, could not see their beauty. You fear them because they are raw energy and could destroy you...as they should.” One of the men slowly shuffles his feet towards his rifle, as if I am too daft to notice. I quickly aim my right pistol and pull the trigger. A loud crack echos off of the brick and surrounding hills. The sun is beginning to set on the horizon. What a gorgeous day for revenge. His body crumples beneath him and blood runs into his open eyes. “you! Stay where you are, sir!” I yell widely at the other man who was backing up in shock and crying incoherently. “I will finish my story. Unless you want to become a pile of mush like your friend.” I point to the motionless body with the end of my Flintlock. “Where was I? ... right, you took away the only family I knew with such little regret. Their delicate lives are so few and yet you continue to destroy their existence. Today will be known as the day that someone fought for their integrity and for their lives, yours will be taken.” I advance towards the shaking little man, my pistol now touching his forehead. “Do you have any last words concerning your actions today?” My eyes burn with a calm fire as I stare into his soul, searching for a morsel of remorse. He raises both hands as if to pray. At a time like this? He begins to mutter a Hail Mary and as he does I notice the blood smeared all over him. Fury burns through my body. “Vengeance is mine, I will repay. For, I am the only wrath you will know!” I scream into the air, tears falling from my chin, and I pull back the trigger with might.

As his lifeless body lays beneath mine a serene quiet falls upon the hills. I slowly turn towards the sunset and drop my smoking gun. Now I have nothing left to live for and I am done with this world. I take one step towards the horizon, then another, then a sharp pain charges in my chest. I raise a hand to my heart and try to take a deep breath. A vignette starts to hone in around the light and takes us both into darkness.

Hail Mary, full of grace.
Our Lord is with thee.

Our Lord is with you
Blessed art thou among women,

Blessed are you among women,
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb,

and blessed is the fruit of your womb,
Jesus.
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners

now and at the hour of our death.

I hear voices, coming through in waves. Now and at the hour of our death. I think it's my mother, I can hear the subtle reverberation of a Rosary. Amen. I slowly open my eyes, my vision is blurred but I can make out a smile and a mess of brown hair. Mom. Thank-god. I sigh in relieve as if I've been through a trauma. “mom,” I croak, “mom please come over here.” I hear a chair screech across the floor and the slapping sound of plastic to foot. She's wearing flip-flops. “where are your Nikes?” I try to joke. “Evy hush, you're not well enough to have a mouth with me. I'm just soft enough to take it.” She grazes her hand over my head. I notice that I am in very little pain. “How long have I been here?” I try to sit up to see my mother's face better. “A few weeks baby, you took a pretty nasty fall. The Doctor had to do some emergency heart surgery, your body can't take that kind of stress. I'm sorry I shouldn't have pressured you to go on such a long tour, it has just been so long since your last spell... I'm sorry.” I could see tears well up in her eyes. “No, mom c'mon don't cry. It makes me uncomfortable to see you vulnerable. Look, I'm fine.” I touch my body all over assessing the damage. “Nothing to worry about.” She calms down and let's a little smile curl against the single tear falling down her cheek. I brush it off of her face. “We wont have any of that.” I say comfortingly. We smile at a eachother for a moment and then I notice the room I am in. It's a normal hospital, not in the country I am used to, we are still in England; but, there are ceramic floors, tacky reproduced art and brand new windows. “Ma, did we move hospitals? What happened to the art?” A confused brow extends on her face, “no darling, this is the room you've been in for weeks. Why do you ask?” Now I have adopted a look of confusion. “oh, I must have been out of it. I think I dreamt that there was gorgeous art and creaky floors. Ha, I would fabricate an illusion like that, you know how I love all of that old stuff.” We both halfheartedly chuckled and moved on in conversation.

Later that night, when my mother was snoring in the bed next to me and I was wide awake in lieu of sleeping any longer than 3 weeks. I stared out of the window, feeling a longing I couldn't explain. I lost myself in thought and began to scan the room, imagining the room I saw before. It felt real. I stared at the screen print of a pale-purple flower, idling on the wall. I stared for so long until I imagined the painting I remember being there, it was an exquisite representation of realism. I remember the brush strokes were clearly in oils of brown and black. It was a wolf, a majestic beast " but, it looked aggressive or agitated in some way.

I suddenly felt compelled to stand and peer out of the window. I lifted the blankets off of me slowly and placed my toes onto the cold tiles. I knew this would take a while, my legs began to tingle awake. After a few minutes I was able to limp, with some help of my drip pole accompanying me. As I approached the window I was astonished to see acres of grass rolling along hills and niches of trees dancing in the wind. I slowly raised a hand to the glass, as if to touch such an unobtainable beauty. I absorbed it all for a moment and before I limped back to my bed, I saw them. Running through the night like a herd of antelope, some of them howling, some twisting their bodies playfully. They were so large and brown, unlike anything I've ever seen, and they just kept running " towards the moon on the horizon. Tears started steaming down my face as I banged on the window incessantly " as if to warn them. “Run!” I screamed. My screech echoed through the corridors of the hospital, over the gunshots that sounded outside.

My mother ran towards me grabbing my hands and forcing me to the floor. “shh baby, it's okay. It's okay, it's just a dream.” Run.

I awoke the next day with the sun, still worried. I hopped over to the window and touched the glass, the heat from my hand left an imprint when I dropped it. The foggy outline lingered for a moment then faded into history. Air left my lungs and I let out a surprised whimper. I stared, eyes wide, at the view from my window. Roads replaced the niches of trees, dirty apartment buildings stood where the hills rolled towards the moon " there were no wolves. No animals at all. I crumpled onto the floor, sobbing silently. Where have they gone?

Author's Note

I know there are grammatical errors, feel free to correct. I will take any criticism as long as it is constructive. If you read it all (I know it's long), thank-you for reading!