Tonight was different.
Usually, Cassie's nights were all the same, invariably and indefinitely.
She would cry herself to sleep, and sink deeper and deeper in, until her unconscious was set free. The dream would start with a single thought, "Jake," stretched out across a void. The 'a' stretched out, crying anger and sadness and love and a 997 other feelings. The word zoomed out and across, bringing Cassie face to face with him. He would reach out, and touch her face, and she'd reach out and touch his. Only, his face would be empty air, and she'd wave her hand through a couple of times, sobbing deafeningly, until she swung her arm out too far, and she was losing her balance and falling falling falling onto her mattress. When she hit, she'd wake up. Her face would be sticky with tears and sweat and the scab on the top of her hand would be open and bleeding.
So she'd get up and go get a band-aid and think about the scab. It was from her last birthday. She was celebrating with Ronnie and she went to cut the cake. He accidentally bumped her elbow and the sharp knife pierced her skin, leaving a cut about three-quarters of an inch long. Due to her ceaseless nightmares, the cut never healed. She could never remember (or maybe never bring herself) to put a band-aid on before she went to bed. It probably would never heal, and leave a scar instead. Every night she'd think that and snort: figures. Age and death had turned Cassie cynical during the hard times.
But tonight! Tonight there was no Jake, no ghost, no band-aid. Tonight she dreamt of gilled Hork-Bajir, of being a whale, of a vast room full of ships. She dreamt an ocean, of a ship, of Atlantis. Of mutations, of people, blue, gilled, web-footed and wide-eyed.
She woke up only remembering fragments and could only wonder why.