Reprieve

I'm not a greatly experienced lucid dreamer. I've tried, but there have been so many distractions in my life for the last few decades that I just don't get the right focus going. I have achieved a few things. Even though I don't always know I'm dreaming - in fact, usually I don't know it's a dream - I have developed the ability to recognize the dream state as a place where I have "powers" even though I am not consciously aware of the fact that I'm asleep. As seen in some of my other dreams, I can fly, I can draw "energy" from my surroundings, and I can use it to fight. When I reach the border of awareness between knowing I can affect the dream, and knowing that it is a dream, I can alter my own physical form and control the actions of others. (And yes, in high school I used this to dream I had bigger boobs. Wouldn't you?) I believe that the evolution of these capabilities has occurred somewhat due to the nightmares themselves - I had to fight back, or lose my mind entirely. The result is that without knowing I'm not acting in everyday waking reality, I don't have any problem with doing and witnessing things that I would not expect to work the same way in the waking state.   

I have no idea why I'm walking in the downtown area in the middle of the night, or why it's so deserted. This place is never quiet. The few times I've had to drive through here, there have always been other cars, and people walking. Tonight, there's nobody. The entire street is empty. I can hear my footsteps echoing around me up and down the street.

My legs ache really badly, like I've been walking for a long time, or in some other way overexerted them. The worst pain is in my groin muscle on the right side. I have a vague memory of taking over-the-counter medicine for it, but there hasn't been much relief from that. Looking down, I realize that my boots may be part of the reason why I'm hurting so much. They're really cool looking hard-soled boots, high black leather, with buckles and studs up the outside, and big, square four inch heals. The tops are hidden by the dress I'm wearing, which goes below the knee. These boots are heavy. As I walk, they sound almost like horse's hooves on the pavement. I love these and wonder where I got them, but for walking like this, I wish I had my sneakers. I wonder why I am dressed like this? This dress looks like an adult version of a little girl's party or Easter dress, only it's black. I recognize the style - it's an attempt at a Lolita look, but the boots are totally wrong, and there's no parasol, no gloves. This is not how I would do that look. Did I even dress myself, or did someone else pick this out for me? I have to get out of here.

I know that I'm on my way to where my van is parked. There's a lot down the street. I must have paid to park there. Still, something about this seems really off. It feels manufactured, like a movie set. Why would I even be alone in the downtown area after dark? There's nothing here for me to do. Behind me is the courthouse. Down the street are bars I don't patronize, hotels where I don't stay, and stores where I don't shop. There's a bank where I don't have an account. There's absolutely nothing here that I would seek out. Feeling a sense of unfocused wrongness, I start pulling energy, and I realize it doesn't feel like "downtown" energy. It feels like I'm pulling from my own neighborhood. I quickly use the energy to make a shield around myself, and then begin reinforcing it. I have a bad feeling that I'm being watched. I need to take note of my surroundings.

Looking around, I realize I've walked beyond where I meant to go. I've crossed the street west of the courthouse, and gone down the block. I'm now in front of the parking garage instead of where I meant to be. I should have crossed the street to the south to get to the lot. I can see my van there, but I can't cross here. Even though it's deserted, with my luck, if I try to jaywalk, that would be the one time there would be a car, and I wouldn't see it in time. Is that the malevolence I'm facing, that I'm going to be hit by a car trying to get home?

I turn around to go back, trying to watch everywhere at once. Even this feels manufactured. Why don't I remember crossing the street?

As the thought hits me, a shadow runs out of the parking garage and approaches me rapidly. I put up a hand and shove a burst of what I've been pulling at it. The energy streaks forward like a lightning bolt, striking the figure in the chest and knocking it backward. I hear a loud, undefined "OOF" sound like I knocked the wind out of my assailant. I know I'm in trouble, though. I'm exhausted, still in pain from previous days' activities (which I can't remember) and having difficulty concentrating in these odd clothes and odd surroundings.

I back away from the shadow, focused on pulling more energy. The shadow bolts forward like a sprinter launching out of a set of starting blocks, heading right for me. Remembering a snippet from a recent conversation I can't place, I try putting the energy into my shield instead of an attack. I push the structure of it to form long spikes with the energy I'm adding. They pop out like the barbs on an inflating blowfish in a cartoon. As the shadow approaches, I push everything into that shield and those spikes, realizing suddenly that only I can see them.

He slams into the sharp ends with a gratifying crunch, and howls in pain. His voice, sounding very familiar, sends chills down my spine. Now that he's closer, I can see him, too. His appearance is totally deceptive. He's shorter than me, and abnormally thin, with wiry, sinewy arms and legs. His hair sticks out everywhere, hanging around his face and shoulders like it's never been in the same room with a comb. His face is kind of heart shaped, with a small, pointy chin, a small, thin-lipped mouth that is sneering at me right now, a pointy little nose, and big, heavy-lidded, sleepy-looking, black-rimmed, very bloodshot eyes with dark circles under them that almost look like bruises. His top eyelids seem half-closed. His bottom eyelids hang open a bit too far, revealing the red flesh below his corneas. The effect looks like he put on way too much eyeliner, then pulled his eyelids down and they got stuck that way. Looking at it makes my eyes hurt. He has long, sharp, stained claws instead of fingernails. His ears are pointed at the top, the points sticking out through that mop of hair in two different directions. His hair covers his forehead, coming down over his eyebrows. He's dressed in dark clothes and wearing a jacket. Big, heavy soled boots stick out from under his pants. If he kicks me with those, it's going to hurt bad.

I don't know from where, but I know this guy, and I know that I really am in trouble. I feel my face betray my sense of recognition, my confusion, and my fear. He sees, and he smiles. The tiny mouth doubles its width in an awful, sneering grin, showing sharp but dingy teeth all the way back.

He's bleeding where the points of my shield stuck into his body. There are spikes broken off, sticking out of his shirt. He grabs one, pulls it out, and looks at it, then looks at me and says, "Nice."

He starts walking around me instead of toward me, looking at my shield, which he can apparently now see. I can see his gaze moving up and down, assessing, searching for something. When he starts to move around to the side, I turn to face him. He looks amused and says, "Only in the front, is it?" then disappears from my view.

I hear a noise behind me, and spin around just in time to take a blow to the side. He hits the shield again, this time with the palms of his hands, and this time there's a crackling, electric discharge all around me. He's not attacking me. He's attacking my shield. His jaw is set, his lips bunched together, and his eyebrows low over his eyes. I've made him angry.

The effect of his attack throws me into the air, tossing me several yards down the street. I try to control the fall, but I land on my back and hit my head on the sidewalk. I can still feel the energy snapping around me. My shield is still there, but it feels thinner. I hear him yell, "Well, what are you waiting for? Are you going to just stand there and watch?"

From behind me, I hear a feminine laugh. I know her. I've seen her recently. If she is here, I'm toast. I struggle to get up, my head feeling heavy, and my feet feeling tangled up in my boots. I try to turn over so I can get up from an all-fours position, since I can't seem to get my balance this way. I'm a hair's breadth from panic, scrambling sideways on the pavement, accidentally moving closer to the street.

I see her kneeling beside me, her face twisted in a look of mock sympathy, wrecked by the humor in her eyes. She says, "Awe, cut it out. He isn't that scary." With one finger, she pokes my shield, and it vanishes with a loud popping sound, and she says, "That's better." She grabs me with both hands, and wraps me up in a stranglehold that almost feels like it was meant to be a hug, except that I can't move, my chin is trapped against her chest, and she's squeezing me so hard she's hurting my neck. I can feel the zipper from her jacket pressing into my cheek. It feels like it's breaking the skin there. I think she's going to kill me.

All I can do is scream. I decide to try putting energy into that. I can't take a deep breath, but I take as much of a breath as I can, and let out the loudest war-whoop I can muster, pulling from the sidewalk beneath me and forcing the energy out through my voice. The effect seems to be as though she's been slugged in the jaw by a giant fist. She lets go and falls backward, her head smacking the sidewalk like mine did a moment ago. Forgetting my previous worry about traffic, I run into the street, continuing to draw energy and scream like mad. The tall woman rolls away from me and hides behind one of the concrete trash fixtures attached to the sidewalk.

The man who originally attacked is running toward her. She glares at him and yells, "Why did you dress her like that? Did you want her to blast me like that?"

He smacks her in the back of the head and shouts something that sounds entirely like gibberish. They both look mad. She points at me and yells back at him in gibberish. Her face is red. I think maybe while they're fighting, I can escape. I finish crossing the street, and begin sneaking off toward my van. I take 3 steps on the other side of the street, when he looks at me and yells, "No you don't!"

He doesn't move. Confused, I stop, just in time to feel something huge, hard, and heavy slam into me, knocking me into the air, flipping me sideways so that I can see I've been hit by a small sports car. I can see clearly through the windshield. There is no driver.

I am filled with total despair. I can't win this by myself. I wish I was back at the party where there was help.

As the thought crosses my mind, I hear a siren in the distance. It rapidly gets louder. Both of my attackers turn to look at it. I land in the street, and the car backs up off of the sidewalk and revs its engine. I try to focus on floating up in the air. I get about 4 feet off of the ground, but I can't go up any more. I feel heavy, and exhausted. I'm running out of options. I start to sink.

An ambulance pulls up behind me. I hear doors slamming, and footsteps. My male attacker's voice shouts "You! What do you think you're doing?"

I'm having trouble seeing what is around me. Everything is kind of blurred. I think maybe I have a head injury. I hear another familiar female voice say, "Careful. She's bleeding," and then there are a bunch of hands on my arms, hips, and legs, lifting me. I'm on a flat surface, moving. The female says, "Get her into the back." I hear shouting further away, and a bunch of different noises; crackling, buzzing, and booming sounds. The tall woman shrieks, and suddenly I feel freezing cold. I could swear that my blood has turned to ice. I hear the male from the ambulance yell, "You're fighting for the wrong team!" The tall woman shouts obscenities at him. Then, I'm inside, and the doors slam shut at my feet. Someone tells me to relax, that they can't get in here. I hear another door shut, and the siren starts again. The blur turns into dark. It feels like we're moving, and I'm nauseous for a moment.

I wake up laying on a hospital bed, in a small room with some living room furniture and a little refrigerator. There's no window, but there are pictures all over the walls, all of them very pretty, none of them containing people. Some of them are photos I've shot, but others I don't recognize. I'm dressed a lot more comfortably than before, in full-length, fuzzy, warm footie pajamas. I haven't had a pair of these since I was a little kid. Having them on brings back a host of positive memories and feelings. I'm cozy, cared for, and totally secure. I'm protected.

I sit up. My head still hurts, but not as badly. I can feel that there's a bandage wrapped around the injury. It's not wet, so that's good. I look at the floor. I'm afraid to just stand up without seeing where I'm putting my feet. Beside the bed, there's a pair of big, puppy fat slippers. Someone knows my feet get cold.

I slip my pajama-footed toes into the slippers, and stand up. I'm not dizzy, just tired.

I wonder if I'm locked in, or if I can leave this room. I try the door, and it opens to show what looks like a dormitory lounge. There are couches and chairs, coffee tables, and a snack machine. I step out, and look around. A familiar lady approaches me and states the obvious. "Oh, you're awake!"

I remember her in a different, more formal outfit from before, but she's dressed in scrubs now, with white pants and a shirt with different colored little flower prints on it. She asks how I'm feeling. I tell her my head hurts, but it's not bad, and I'm not dizzy any more, then ask where I am. She smiles at me and says the doctor will meet me in my room. She says she's glad I'm ok, but I should get some rest.

So, I'm in a medical facility. Ok. I see magazines and books on the coffee tables. I head for one of the couches, but when I do I can see out the window that my attackers from before are outside across the street. They look horribly pissed off, and are pacing back and forth, glaring at the building. As I watch, the male hurls some kind of energy ball at the window. I jump backward, almost slipping and falling, but the ball doesn't come inside. It hits the building with a loud bang, but doesn't seem to do any damage. I see the tall woman building up an energy ball in her hand, but the male shakes his head, and she lets it fade.

The "nurse" tells me I should go back to my room, where they can't see me. It'll be safer there. She walks me back there, wheeling a cart in front of her. In the room, I curl up on the couch. It doesn't seem to bother her that I've put my feet on the furniture. Instead, she puts a great big soup-bowl sized mug on the little coffee table in front of me and tells me to drink, and I'll feel better. When she goes, I notice a book on the table. I pick it up and open it. Inside are a bunch of cartoons and kitty-lolz I've seen and laughed at before, ones that really hit my funny bone. I pick up the mug and take a sip. It's beef broth with rosemary and onion, another favorite of mine.

I'm sitting on the cushy couch, feeling cozy and warm in these pajamas and slippers, sipping the very fortifying mix of beef infused with protective herbs, and perusing the book of my favorite jokes, when the "doctor," who I recognize as the man who helped me avoid the tall woman's traps the last time I saw him, comes into the room. He's dressed the part, wearing pressed gray slacks, shiny black shoes, a shirt and tie, and a white scrub jacket. He is even carrying a clipboard and a pen. I almost expect him to sit down and ask me, "...and how does that make you feel?"

Wait. I'm in a mental institution? Wait. It's not a real institution, is it? I'm not stuck here forever, right? Was I committed? Am I nuts? I look at him, but I'm afraid to ask that question.

He raises an eyebrow and says, "Don't ask me. You're the one who interpreted "asylum" this way. I didn't build it like this. I just did the pajamas and the food. I thought you'd like those better than a flimsy hospital gown and cafeteria food. Anyhow, you're safe here for now. They can't get in. You should get some sleep."

For a moment, I'm confused. Asylum?

He says, "You should get some rest while you can. Drink the broth, and get some sleep."

I am really tired. I want to ask questions, but I can feel sleep taking over. He stands, smiles at me, and leaves. I'm left with the broth and the book. I find myself gulping down the drink, emptying the cup rapidly. The couch is so comfortable, I don't want to get up, even though there's a bed to sleep in, and even though I have about 500 questions for that guy. I'm just so sleepy. I think I'll shut my eyes for a moment while I decide what to do.


I didn't even feel myself transition from dreaming to awake. One second, I was closing my eyes on the big, cushy couch in the mental institution from my dream, and the next, I was on the couch in my living room at home. I vaguely remember kissing my husband goodbye sometime after talking to the "doctor" from my dream, but that is kind of a blur. 

For the first time in days, I feel pretty good. I'm not exhausted. I'm still sore, but I have fibromyalgia, and this feels pretty normal for me. It feels like for once, I got a full night's sleep. I don't feel like I could take on the whole world, but at least I'm ready to take on the day. This isn't so bad.