Yellow, Crinkled, Inviting Pages

3

May 28, 2009

Diary,

I am going to be rambling tonight. I woke up because of a....well, I don't know if this was a bad dream or a good dream. This one was strange, felt more like a memory than a dream, though before now I hadn't been aware of such a memory. It was when I was barely five years old. I was the son of the town butcher. In my dream, I was toddling through the house, but, something struck me as being amiss. One of daddy's knives was missing. I looked up at the wooden knife block, seeing the curious gap in the row of black grips. Daddy always said to tell him when there was a knife gone from his counter.

For whatever reason, I didn't pay attention to his rule and continued on in my dream. Suddenly, I was pushing my way into my sister's room. She was on her bed, neck dripping with some dark red liquid. It looked almost like... juice.

I walked over and dragged my finger across one of the pools of red liquid before placing my finger in my mouth and sucking. It was not a pleasant taste... rather, it tasted like some of those shavings left over when Daddy sharpened his knives. The rest seemed to happen in slow motion. Mommy walked in and found us, she screamed and fell on the bed over my sissy. I tugged on her dress. "What's wrong mommy? Sissy's just sleeping... and she made juice!" That's all I remember of the dream. It was chilling. I remember it, and I think I will continue to think about it. I can't shake it. Is it an actual memory that I put behind me?

I can still taste the "juice" in the dream. It tasted heavily of iron... but also... sweet.