If I look back and frame my memories of then with my mind and experiences of today then I would have said it was warm. I would have said I felt safe, and I would have said that I was perfectly content to stay where I was.
As it turns out though regardless of the warmth and contentment I would soon leave that safety, and even if I had known, I'd yet to learn to open my mouth in protest (or at all).
The thing about dreaming is that very rarely do you realise you are, and even more rarely do you use that knowledge to take action. There is no end or begging or anything outside the dream. So I too exist, dream, dance. To the beat of these war drums I kick, and flail, and fall.
Graceless.
Formless.
True.
They are not heard but felt. From the top of my skull, through my spine, to the tips of my fingers and toes it pounds out all thought with its rythem. It grinds away my soul to dust only to rebuild it again in a dance as I cycle through the a sarcadium rhythm not my own.
And yet I grow.
Somewhere in the space next my the dust of my resting soul grows a beat it's own (A gathering of clouds and tencing of the air.) My own. And I am nearly complete.
As I dance to the ever thruming tune I feel myself touch the walls of the space around me and now that boundaries exist I know that things are changing. Soon either the walls will break or I will, my body recycled with my soul.
( Goodbye Ms. Jones)
And then the walls are tightening round my body and I'm broke from my resting haze. As if a snake I am constricted and pushed its an unbearable pressure exerted on all sides.
Is this it?
Somehow the destruction of my body is so much less kind then that of my soul.
And then its COLD.
BRIGHT.
LOUD.
My eyes (whatareeyesicantopenthemaretheymine?) burn a stinging red and I am cold and it burns. It's so much everything is moving around me and I can feel shifting air currents on my skin as I am moved and shifted then rubbed and SLAPPED.
JESUSFUCKINGNOIDONTWANTITITHURTSPLEASESTOPLEAVEMEALONEITSSHARPITBURNSIMDIEINGINCOLDFIREPLEASEGODHELPMEITHURTSJUSTLEAVEMEALONEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE.
And just like that I have a voice, I know pain, and I've felt fear. Dear lord.
(The rain falls a curtain of rage that explodes on impact and slithers through debris.)
Still screaming (and I'll not stop thank you very much) Im wrapped in something stiff and warm, and handed over again ( I'm not an object stop touching me I do not consent I dont like it stop). I'm layed down and in my mouth is put to something.
Oh.
I'm sucking before I even realise and just like that I'm silenced.
And just like that I learn hunger and its cure.
And just like that I hear the war drums beneath my cheek. It's faster, and weaker. It does not resonate throughout my being but instead is tapped in this thing beneath me.
Dreams dont have beginings or ends and I see no flashing sign to signafy such a thing, but my suckles slow and my muscles relax. The drum fades and though I fear as suddenly and sharply as the cold that without it i will not start again, i am helpless to resist.
The movement and noise had continued and climaxed all this time and continue to do so as I cease.
( the storm disperses before it even bagan. The rain stops and clouds dissolve. No light has breached the sky, stoped before it began.)
(Goodbye Ms. Jones)