"Were It Not That I Have Bad Dreams"

[fiat_knox]

I dreamed I was part of a small group travelling through somewhere, overland, and that we'd been forced to stay at some seemingly deserted village that was little more than a collection of buildings on either side of a little-travelled side road.

You can already guess this might not be one of the nice dreams.

The homes were surprisingly well-maintained, for all that nobody seemed to be around during the hours of daylight actually maintaining anything. Round the corner was a small bush of some sort, growing against the wall, with seven small flowers blossoming and a bunch of withered ones.

Inside that house, the party of seven, including myself, settled in to wait out the night. The main corridor showed a picture of a beautiful woman with a mane of blonde hair and proud blue eyes.

I entered a room and found what looked like the inhabitants. They were all lying about in cots, dressed in dark mourning veils, twitching spasmodically. I thought that it would be a really good time for everyone to pack up and get out, but darkness had already fallen and the first of the party was already gone, and one of the flowers withered on the bush outside as fireflies danced around them.

The other buildings turned out to be empty. Only the building we were in turned out to be inhabited, and for some reason none of the party even knew about the room with the twitching people in mourning veils.

One of the victims decided to abandon his fellow travellers and head on out. He heard a shuffling sound behind him. There was no further sound. It cut to the bush outside, and five blossoms remaining.

Back in the room with the twitching people, I saw a scroll on a bureau across the room. I had to go through the room to get it. It had a long list of words written down it. I knew I had to translate those words, but I had no idea what language it was.

That night, one more person vanished. She let off a blood-curdling scream.

Four flowers remaining open; the first three were already withered.

The party was now fighting amongst themselves, arguing that it was every man for himself. One by one, they tried to get away - none of them made it.

Then there was just me, trying my luck with the door. I made it outside, and it was broad daylight, the sun shining yellow through some dark clouds. I turned, and the people in mourning veils were in the streets, standing still, blocking my exit. Turning again, I saw their leader standing behind me. I pulled up her veil.

It was the woman from the portrait, her hair still gorgeous, but her eyes filmed over and her face pallid, sallow, lifeless.

I felt the material of her clothes, the fine fabric of her mourning veil, the cold of her hard arm beneath the fabric of her sleeve, and I said "I'm sorry." I didn't know what she or her people had done to be condemned, but I was sorry that this was done to them.

She gave me the scroll; and this time, I could see what the words read.

PRIDE
ENVY
SELFISHNESS
PACT
ACRIMONY
ACCURSED
SHUNNED
DEATH
PAIN
ETERNAL

I had a pen, and I drew a line through the last word:-

PRIDE
ENVY
SELFISHNESS
PACT
ACRIMONY
ACCURSED
SHUNNED
DEATH
PAIN
ETERNAL

following it up with other words in the language which I could now understand:-

PRIDE
ENVY
SELFISHNESS
PACT
ACRIMONY
ACCURSED
SHUNNED
DEATH
PAIN
ETERNAL
forgiveness
love
sacrifice
parole
rest
peace

Then it was just me and the Lady. The others had gone. She touched my chest, whispered one word, "WITNESS," and she was gone.

I turned to leave, but then I noticed that all of the blossoms had withered.

I'd gone to bed at 00:00, hoping to get a good solid night's sleep. I woke up from this dream at 05:40.

Gaah.

Gaaaaah.

Comments

[azraelthe7th.livejournal.com]

Considering Death is often interpreted as a symbol of 'change' in dreams, I wouldn't see this as wholly horrible.

I would also add that your subconscious self remained virtuous and good-hearted, in spite of the horrors and fears witnessed. I would have to say it is a good indication of the type of person you are; and that I can count myself lucky to be counted as one of your friends.

[wolf-heart9.livejournal.com]

I will say this, as creepy as this dream is, it's still damned fascinating. The words are very specific, and it would be interesting to know if these were the crimes ascribed to the mourners, and if so, who wrote them down in the first place? And where did you fellow travelers go? I'd like to know if they're now inhabiting the house, or will be, or if they're now trapped in one of the other buildings in the village.

[fiat-knox.livejournal.com]

Look to the withered flowers ...

[wolf-heart9.livejournal.com]

I noticed the withered flowers. I saw that as part of the dream. I didn't miss or ignore it. But that could mean anything -- that your companions were dead and elsewhere as ghosts in buildings, that they were just gone, that they were the flowers that withered. It was a symbolic image that didn't necessarily provide the reader with any clues as to what happened.