I jolted awake from my sleep. Heart pounding. Sweat pouring. I hadn't realised that my hand was under my ragged shirt. Clawing my skin like I was holding a wound.
I can't believe it's already been 30 days since I started having that nightmare. The same thing. Again and again. It doesn't make sense. Damn it. My tongue clicked.
I stretched out of bed as I've grown past my cradle. I am now a young boy. Even though it's only been a month, I've already taken shape of a 5 or 7 year old. I felt my body grow rapidly while I sleep. Like it's alive. Like something else is forcing it, stretching it to grow.
My feet felt the damp earth as I sat by my bed side, scribbling away, trying to write down what happened in my dreams, trying to understand.
But when I read it. It was all the same thing. That damn blue screen, flickering that same group of words. That same figure. It didn't respond nor reacted. Even in dream I shouted out. But nothing.
[ Dixon Lvl: 0]
10 pages full of that. For days I've documented. It was only that.
I threw my book aside then placed a hand on my face. I ran my fingers through my short hair. Trying to ease the tensing folds of my forehead. I shook what's left of my sleep and stood up. I can't sit here for much. I have things to do.
I've learned many skill in this new world from my mother. How to clean a fish. How to skin a lamb. How to make a fire. All in the goal of survival. We lived in cold winter, afterall.
Though I haven't got the chance to look outside. My body too underdeveloped for that type of weather. I can only ponder my dreams while washing these plates. Those hollowed eyes still vivid in my head. I splashed the cold water onto my face, forcing it to wake. I can't be sluggish.
After that a shimmering glimmer under my sheets caught my eye. I wiped my hands dry then pulled it out. It was a medallion.
Though it gleamed in yellow, it wasn't gold. My mother brought this when she found it under snow outside. Hah, and there I thought we'd escaped poverty that day.
I groaned then placed it inside my pocket. A lucky charm. If nothing else.
Then in a corner, a sword. Left by a warrior who clearly didn't miss it. Of course, who'd miss a dull blade? But i begged to keep it. "It's cool" I argued. Though a rock would do a better job cutting something than this thing. But that's not important. I have other plans for it.
Then footsteps approached the tent. To light to be an animal, to slow to be urgent. I slid the sword under my bed as the ash pile in the entrance swirled.
A boot, her boot, came inside. Holding a bucket of clothes that weren't ours. Her hair was a wrapped into a bun. The calluses on her hands thick.
"Dixon, be a dear and handle these" she said, handing me a handful of clothes. She was a laundry maid. The only one in the village, I think.
The chattering of women made me thought their were more like her. But the pile said otherwise.
"Mother, why are you the only one who does this thing?" i innocently asked, as they may be only a few women in this village. Guessing at the usual clothing that my mother brings. They are still women.
"Hush," she said as she handed me another. "we don't complain. Just be grateful we have something to feed our stomachs"
I pouted. Well... I'll drop it.
Still, those lazy wenches. They probably couldn't even lift a finger if they tried.
Then again, not any woaman could do what my mother does. Fetching heavy buckets of water a day. Washing the clothes in cold weather. She was different.
"Don't worry mother, when I grow up, I'll carry 10 buckets! Then I'll wash the laundry really fast that you can't even see my hands!" I childishly bragged. I knew these were tall tales. But, that didn't matter. As when I lie, she smiles.
She smiled but slightly, then she gave me a knock on the head. "Enough," she said. I gave her a playful smile as I dropped the handful to the pile. We share a chuckle.
Though when i dropped the clothing. Something suddenly stuck on me. It was dark red and...
Blood—it was blood.
My eyes widened and my hands frantically shook. My mother horrified, grabbed me in her arms.
Then flashes—scenes- memories.
a sword.
White void.
A figure.
A grin.
Then darkness.
I floated in ink. Cold. Piercing. I was alone yet felt eyes prey on me. Like something was watching. Something. My teeth rattled as I curled into a ball. I felt naked.
But it all melted as white dripped from the heavens and that melody played again. Familiar. Mother? My thoughts trace as I raise my head.
I saw—angel.
Reaching down on me elegantly. It dripped in white, like candle or snow. Her face smooth like glass. Her wings made from what looked like arms, spreaded. She sang. Her lips parted yet never shut.
It's melody pure.
"Run to the mountains, call me back,
I'll ready my weapons, and charge with wrath,
Over the mountains and under a raft,
Ingrave my name, call me back"
Then, I awoke.
Slowly I opened my eyes. Heavy they were, as if pounds of steel were weighted on them. My body felt weak. My vision cleared as I saw my mother tend my hand. Gently rubbing a piece of warm cloth while still humming that tune. My hand glowed a strange green.
"Mother..."
She dropped the cloth then hugged me tight. She was shaking and her clothes were wet. I felt her sob under my shirt.
What happened to me? That place... What was it? Like trying to catch a cloud, I couldn't remember.
Then she pulled out of the hug and wiped her tears. Smearing the herbs that were on her fingers.
She took a deep breath and moved her hair out of her face.
"You must be hungry?" She asked. "I'll grab some supper"
I nodded and laid still in bed. I looked over a the short candle light that stood on a makeshift holder.
"What happened to me?"
"An allergy the doctor said."
An allergy... To that? No, that can't be. It felt different. It real. Should I tell her the things I saw? I probably shouldn't. I don't even remember much.
My mother must have noticed my frowning expression as then she said, "He also said to hold back on the broths for now, so we're eating something different tonight." My face lit up slightly.
"Really?"
Atleast imagining what could be for supper distracted my foggy head. Maybe after a meal I could think clearer.
I let my imagination entertain my mind. How it Could be roasted chicken or meat. I've dreamed of what it tasted like. How I would savor the flavor. I can somewhat smell it already.
But my smile faded and my pupils flames anguished. As what stands before me wasn't smoking meat or anything I thought of. It was-
"Mushrooms!" My mother boomed.
Looking inside the bowl, my eyes squinted as my lips parted in disappointment. Mushrooms stumps floated in a murky soup, which gave a earthly scent. Fancy way to say it smelt like dirt.
Well, atleast it isn't broth. I raise a shoulder in defeat then reached for the wooden spoon for a bite.
Took the first bite. The mushroom felt slimy as my teeth tore it apart. It tasted like wet bark, but I swallowed anyway.
My mother watched me with sleepiness under her eyes. Her fingers played with my hair as she said, "Eat up"
"It's better than the broth" i said with mouthful.
Though 'better' was objective. As it was only a couple paces ahead.
Though still even with the food, I couldn't shake off the mysteries in my head.
That green glow. Her humming. I've documented them ever since I learned how to write. And that angel. The tune. Its cryptic words. Only now have I heard them clearly.
I've imagined this moment. Word for word I thought of what to ask. And now was my moment. I need to know. Need to know what it all means. And maybe... Know who I was.
The cold night sang through the woods, as I could heard the rustled leaves. Sounds of wolves howling that turned to growls. I swallowed my breath.
"Mother..." I whispered, gripping the spoon. "Why are we here?"