Starlight

Chapter 6: Snowy Night

Right. So. Remember when I said I wasn't a chicken? That was before I saw Paranormal Activity 3. I am definitely a chicken, or at least I am after watching a horror movie and then trying to walk home at midnight.

A dull buzzing sounded in my ears, the cold biting at them. I bundled myself deeper into my grey parka, trying to take comfort in the cozy down feathers that filled the jacket and made it soft and puffy. While it wasn't the first snow of the season, the white flakes twirled though the dark night like falling stars, twinkling as it met the dark earth. The snow that had fallen weeks ago had long melted during the warmer winter days, so the fresh dusting was pristine and unmarred except for my footprints that trailed behind me. Reaching into the deep pockets, I pulled out the mittens and hat that I had crocheted last Christmas after Jake had given me some alpaca white wool with strands of sparkling silver spun into it. He had teased me, pretending to be old and decrepit, his back hunched, mocking the way I held my hook and yarn. I had laughed him off, ignoring him. Crocheting eased the anxiety that haunted me most days. And plus, I had needed the warmth in these frozen New England winters. I pulled my hat on over my ears, the fuzzy ropes swinging on either side my face, tangling in with my red curls. I flexed my fingers inside the fuzzy wool, marveling that it didn't cause my hands to itch as the cheaper wool tended to.

Now that I was sure that my fingers and ears weren't going to fall out, my mind wandered back to my dream, still fresh in my mind. It hadn't been the first time I had had the dream. Or more like nightmare. It wasn't that the dream was scary or frightened me... however, I had awoken on several occasions with tears streaming down my face and leaving me in a snappy mood, wearing my emotions on my sleeve. Those were the days my mother was really able to get under my skin. I had missed several calls from her and I was trying desperately not to think about how angry she was going to be with me. I doubted she was worried about me, truly me, but more of how it made her look to not have control of her own daughter, to not know where she was, who she was with, or when she'd be home.

It was easier to just let my mind wander back to the dream.

I never could really see anyone too clearly, or maybe the images of the people faded with the sleep as the fuzziness of my mind slipped back into the real world. When I tried to remember, or tried to really focus, I was nearsighted, and the faces were awash and out of focus. It always seemed to be the same people, each nightmare raw, making my heart bleed. It was easy to withdraw afterwards, to just simmer in pain that the girl felt. The loneliness. The fear. The knowledge that everything was ruined and it was her fault.

I kicked at the snow that was starting to accumulate in front of me, ignoring the cold that seeped into the weakly insulated areas of my outfit, biting at the skin that was exposed in the rip of my jeans, at my wrists and stomach as my jacket moved with my motions. I didn't know why I had the dreams and when I had told Dr. Skinner about them, he had suggested hypnotism. The idea had scared me more than anything Dr. Skinner had ever suggested. My mother and him were the last people I wanted messing around with my subconscious. I wondered sometimes, during the more depressing times of my life, before Jake, if it was my mind telling me not to kill myself. I scratched at my jacket, my skin crawling as I thought about it. Suicide, as much as she thought she was sacrificing herself to fix everything, that is what it had felt like. The man's screams as he beat against the invisible wall in front of him, unable to get to her. Did her sacrifice really save them all?

I snorted at the thought, shaking my head. It was a dream. Only a dream. A dream that didn't have any secret meanings to it. A dream about people who only existed in my subconscious. No matter how real it felt to me. I rubbed my hand over my left wrist, and though I couldn't feel the scars through my mitten, I knew they were there, what they felt like smooth, long healed, yet rough as they raised in keloids bubbling over my skin. I didn't really think about them often, but the raw pain from tonight's dreams brought me back.