Camouflage

Once again, I have to fight through my own mind to get to the asylum. Prior to that, I'm twelve years old, sitting at a desk in a classroom, working on an in-class assignment that of all things involves counting, organizing, and cleaning a box full of my own shoes. At first, I totally lose myself in the assignment, performing the requirements to the exact specifications given on the instruction sheet. I'm doing this, and thinking about how, when I was a little girl, I used to gather everyone's shoes in the house and clean and polish them when I was stressed. I've never understood why that makes me feel better. It just does.

Suddenly, I realize I'm a little girl, thinking about when I was a little girl. This is a distraction. I need to talk to the "doctor." I'm probably using this to keep from confronting things I'm afraid to see.

As the thought occurs to me, the shoes begin to fade away. The desk I'm in becomes softer, and then the top of it disappears. I'm sitting in that chair in the room I'm staying in at the asylum. He's sitting across from me, and seems to be studying my face. He looks doubtful and a little worried. I feel like he doesn't think I can handle this. I don't feel like I can, either, but I know that if I don't, bad things are going to happen.

The wedding album sits on the table. Other books are there, but I don't think they'll work the way it did. At least, I hope not. There is still a deep, throbbing ache in my chest from learning from that book.

He tells me I should not try to do this so quickly, that I should rest a little. The petite lady/nurse comes around from behind me and brings me a huge cappuccino mug. It smells like there's hot chocolate in it, and when I look, I see marshmallows floating on top. I'm grateful for the concern, but I feel so impatient, and I'm overwhelmingly annoyed at the suggestion of a delay. Yes, it hurts... a lot, actually... but being kept in the dark drives me nuts. Also, it hurts to not know why, after clinging so hard, and trying so hard to not let go, she would turn against me like this.

I tell him I have to know at least that - why is she working with him? I want to know what he's trying to do, what he wants, and what he is, too, but right now I need to know why she is cooperating with him. Why, after working so hard to protect me, would she try to make me vulnerable to someone so obviously harmful and evil? Somehow, thinking about that hurts more than the memories brought back by the book.

He looks like he's trying to figure out what to say. He looks exasperated, too. Three times, he opens his mouth and shuts it again. Finally, he says, "You have to understand, she doesn't see what you do. She sees only what he presents to her, and she knows only what he feeds her."


I don't understand. Is the doc telling me that she could be so easily conned? I can't believe that. My confusion must show on my face, because he shakes his head. "It's not a simple thing. He's using her pain, twisting her emotions. He's not like a whole being - it's like he's made of lies and deception. He doesn't just hide the truth. He banishes it. If he can, he destroys it."

I have an overwhelming sense of deja vu right now. Huge. It feels like I'm being pulled at by that sense. I feel dizzy, and for a moment I close my eyes. When I open them, I'm in the meeting hall where the men dragged in the corpse of the monster.

There are thirteen of us here. We're arguing about what to do. My lady looks horrified, but determined. I feel the same way. We had them beaten, pushed back to where they had broken through, until it came along. It seems to have rallied them, and organized them into something we aren't equipped to confront. We've never seen anything like it, this towering, heaving mass of darkness. I am of the opinion that there's someone inside the dark, hidden, and that is our enemy. One of my allies, traveled here from the outside, thinks otherwise. What he's just told us is creepy. How do you destroy truth? What is left behind when you do? Is that how those monsters were formed?

No, my ally explains. They were what they are before it came along. They're pretty simple, by comparison. They are just hungry. The thing that is darkness is hungry, too, but what it "eats" isn't physical, and it has to poison everything first, for compatibility. If it succeeds, we won't recognize anything around ourselves any more - not even each other, and then he'll keep going. At the edge of my mind, I feel myself thinking about a hidden place, and a people in their infancy as a race. They don't understand. They wouldn't stand a chance. The discussion takes a turn; we are talking about accepting a quarantine. It seems that we have no choice.

I feel the weight of what he's saying slam into me, and it jolts me back to the moment, sitting in that chair at the asylum, looking at him as the doc, thinking about "what he's feeding her." My mind races.

I didn't come back to her, no matter how hard she tried. I didn't even say goodbye. He's made of lies and deception. He has to poison everything. He wants to get through the door. I'm the door.

I feel freezing cold. My whole body shivers. Goose bumps rise on every inch of my skin. Without thinking about it, I sink back into the chair, draw my knees up to my chest, and sip the cocoa, trying to feel warm.

The doc looks worried. "Do you understand? She doesn't know you've changed. She thinks you left. He latched on when she tried to bring you back, and no one knew it had happened until too late. He's been inside the whole time. She doesn't see what he is. She sees something else. She doesn't see how things are. She sees things as being how he can use them to make her do what he wants. She thinks you've let yourself be fooled into some kind of dark allegiance, and abandoned her. He's pulled her pain into anger at you for leaving. He's twisting everything she remembers, everything she feels. He's filling her with resentment and bitterness, poisoning her, so he can use her to get through your defenses. He has made her think that if she wears you down, she can save you from the enemy he's convinced her that we are, and make you return to her. He's using her to try to open you up, and he's making her into an entirely different person than she was. When he gets what he wants, he'll consume her, and discard the empty shell that will be left behind. And he's going to keep poisoning her and twisting who she is, until either you break the connection you made with her, or she breaks you open."

A fiery, liquid rage rises in my chest, and I'm not cold any more. I can feel heat in my face. There's a pounding in my head. Even my eyes feel hot. I want to break things. I want to burn things. I feel my grip tightening on the mug. I'm shaking even harder than before. I can hear someone growling, and for a moment I think they're here, but then I realize it's my voice. I'm going out there right now. I'm going to kill him.

I stand up, and a wave of dizziness hits me. I ignore it. I've got to get out that door. I start stumbling forward. There's a blackness around the edges of my vision. I feel like I'm on fire.

I feel a sharp sting in my left arm. The nurse is standing beside me, eyes wide, brow creased with worry. In her hand, I see a syringe and a hypodermic needle. I look behind me, shocked and angry. What the hell is she doing? I have to get out there. I'm going to burn everything.

My head is heavy. The doc has gotten up from his chair, and is running toward me. He hooks one shoulder under my right arm, and I feel the nurse slide under the other one. I try to push them away, but my limbs won't obey me. They feel like rubber. The cup with the hot chocolate falls from my fingers, but instead of crashing to the floor, it disappears. It feels like I'm falling, too, but I'm not. They're supporting me, guiding me back to the couch. I feel totally impotent, and completely desperate. I have to get my lady away from that thing.

The doc tells me, "Please, don't panic. Don't be angry. He won't do anything while you're here. You will get your chance at him, but you have to heal first. Don't rush in and throw everything away." The last thing I can understand sounds weird, like there's an echo. He keeps talking after that, but it sounds like I'm hearing him through a heavy blanket. I feel the soft cushions of the couch under me. I feel like I'm underwater, struggling to reach the top, except that I can breathe.

It's dark, and I don't feel anything.

When my husband woke me this morning, I had the sense that it had been hours since I lost consciousness. The anger momentarily returned, and I had to fight with it because I didn't want to lash out. I'm still tired. My neighbors were setting off fireworks and shooting guns in the air last night. I have only had a few hours of sleep, not long enough to have experienced the dream I had.

This is starting to fall into the category I think of as serial dreams. I've had them before. I thought that was something I was done with, because it's been a few years. I'm going to have to dig out my old journals and start going through them. There are some similarities here, things I remember. I'm sure that if I read the older entries, I'll find more. 

A couple of weeks ago, I started working on a story based on one series of dreams I had as a teen. It involved different dimensions, and powers that would seem magical in reality, but weren't. I wonder if revisiting those dreams is part of the reason this is happening to me now. It feels like I'm working through something huge that runs really deep. 
I don't know, though. Maybe I'm just nuts.

What?

This is odd. I slept for 12 hours last night. I've only been awake long enough to get something to eat and have some coffee. I just finished reading the last few days' blog to my husband, who for once has the day off on a weekday, because of the holiday. 

I don't have a dream to post today. For the first time in my entire life, for as long and far back as I can remember, I slept the whole night through and woke without having had a memorable dream. I remember closing my eyes last night, and feeling myself doze off. I remember seeing the room in the asylum, then dozing off again. There's nothing else.

I never sleep this late unless I'm sick or injured, or I've been on an insomnia bender that had to be ended with medicine (something that hasn't happened in years, and never in winter.) My usual is about 6 to 9 hours, starting between 8 and 11 P.M. and ending between 4 and 7 A.M., usually not past whatever time the sun comes up. It was afternoon when I got up today. 

I guess I needed the rest. I'm a little groggy now, but I actually feel pretty good. I'm having less fibro pain than normal, and I'm pretty wide awake. I could get used to this.

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.