This is a putting-into-words of two dreams I had on consecutive nights. I haven’t embellished it to turn it into more of a story and I can’t explain any of it further than I already have without doing that. It’s simply a product of my subconscious.
I was wandering through the house, a place I had often been to in dreams but never in the waking world. It was a split level building with fields on one side, sloping down to the sea. Every time I’ve been there, a relentless light has filled the sky but it has never been warm. I was previously aware of two rooms on the lower level of the house. One had worn, old furniture and a piano and a black and white cat. The other was a bedroom with clothes and books and miscellaneous remnants of a life that once was, vacuum sealed and packed away into cupboards.
This time, I noticed a gap between the walls that I didn’t remember being there before. It was wide enough to look through into another area of the house that I had never seen, but not wide enough to fit through. I could hear gentle voices on the other side and felt a sense of enforced calm barely thick enough to cover the danger beneath. For a few brief moments, physics warped and twisted and I was able to move through the solid wall to the quiet world on the other side.
There were bedrooms, dormitories, all painted white and decorated with hand-made flowers and paintings of bright places. On some of the paintings in child-like writing were the words, “They are. They see. They know”. I didn’t recognise the language but I understood the words.
I was invisible to the almost-identical blonde-haired, blue-eyed girls going about their day in near silence, with the softest of steps. The only sound in any of the rooms came from delicate whispers in a language I did not speak.
– – – – –
I was in the school, not my school or a school I had ever visited, but the school that I find myself in when I dream. It is on the outskirts of a small town and the surrounding land is always dry. I have never seen the sun there but there has always been a painful brightness that has worked its way into the core of everything.
There is an unspoken rule at the school that you don’t go beyond the far boundary. There is a high wall along one part of the perimeter but it is simply known to avoid furthest reaches of the other side. I have never ventured there before, but this time I did. I felt I had to. I didn’t know why.
I found a terrace of houses which opened through into one another, white paint peeling from the walls and boards over the windows and doors. The closer I got, the more I felt that something was pushing me away. By the time I reached the one door at the back that wasn’t boarded up, I was certain that there were people inside.
They couldn’t see me or hear me. They didn’t know I was there. They were young women, blonde haired and blue eyed, wearing white dresses in white rooms with rough wooden furniture. Some of them were pregnant. Some of them had babies. The babies made no noise and the young women spoke only in close whispers, behind pale hands.
I knew that they had never questioned why they were being used as vessels to breed children. Children having children. I also knew that as soon as the babies were not babies any more, they were taken away and the quiet young women shed no tears for them.
There was a large aquarium in the corner with white fish gasping in the remains of water which had half evaporated. No-one ever thought to fill it up but sometimes the inhabitants of the houses would touch their fingertips to the surface of the water and stare open-mouthed as the fish swam up to meet them.
As I left, I encountered a pale boy with blonde hair and blue eyes and white clothes, walking in circles and pleading with the sky, “She was there. She was there and I only want to see her again”. He didn’t turn towards me as I passed by. I was nothing but air to him.