And So She Burned

1. The Blood of The Boy

Hell is empty and all the devils are here. --William Shakespeare.

|Now|

My life has always been different. I didn't realize the truth for a long time, but I know everything now, and what I feel is complicated as I put it all together.

My life has pain, love, and the occasional unfortunate mishap. As I stare at the boy I loved, I think I was always meant to know him.

Despite everything.

***
|The Beginning|

The boy in my dream shouted as loud as he could, but no one could hear him. No one but me, that is. In this forest, filled with noise dampening trees and uninhabited space, sound was irrelevant. It did not exist, let alone deserve to.

His beautiful eyes the color of burnt gold darted back and forth, mop of blonde hair falling into his eyes as he ran, crashing through unfamiliar forest terrain.

But why? What would cause a person to run like that, other than their worst nightmare?

My worst nightmare, I had to correct myself. This is my dream, not the unfamiliar boy's. Sometimes my dreams are others dreams--but they can't be. They are just—

Different.

I tried to call out. I'm right here, I would shout, practically in his ear. But all he heard was the whispering of the grass swaying at our feet.

And then . . . Drip. Drip. Drip.

Drip.

D
R
I
P.

His blood falling from his hands. Blood.

Flashes of other things permeated my mind, making me unable to focus on the true scene in front of me. The boy was clutching at his stomach, a fact I hadn't realized until now. Blood, red as the early morning sun, spattered his hands and the ground as he ran.

He was dying.

Even as I watched him, I knew I was dreaming.

Flashes of red continued with the small thoughts that weren't mine, that were me, but not mine. I recognized that familiar tone, but I wasn't truly thinking the words.

Please help! I was screaming to the boy, but he wasn't with me, he was leaving.

Monsters in my mind, trying to tell me what I had to do. Reaching to me, to my mind, shredding the dream.

---

I opened my eyes, lifting my hand to weakly shield my face from the sun shining in through my window. My head shifted to the side and I checked the digital alarm clock next to my bed for the time.

7:00, the red numbers pulsed the beat of a heart.

I rolled over and buried my face into my pillow. Just a dream, I comforted myself with thoughts of cute dogs and kittens. Also a few of the most attractive actors.

It wasn't a particularly different dream. I had nightmares all of the time, and though I knew that I was dreaming and could control what I do, I couldn't control my surroundings and people who are with me like most lucid dreamers I've heard of.

That was not a different dream.

I'm always crazy in my dreams.

But . . . isn't everyone?