MaevinWren: Dreams

The beginning of this dream is foggy- I think I slipped in and out of it a few times, but I get the sense that it was long, and I missing quite a bit of it. There was a small brown/black haired boy with blue eyes playing with black pipe cleaners and blue puff paint at a table in a spacious kinda L shaped room. One wall of the room was filled with tall windows with light brown widow panes. The boy had a darkness in him- something he had to overcome, perhaps a demon in his soul, something tragic in his past. He was making a gift for his mother- it was a black pipe-cleaner butterfly decorated in blue puff paint. It was spindly, grotesque, and probably the loveliest thing that could come out of his dark soul. Vile curses spew from his mouth as if he were possessed as he molded the crooked pipe-cleaners. My aunt came in- his mother- and they had a small discussion [can’t remember] I knew she offered him all the love and lightness in her heart- hoping to save him from the darkness that seemed a part of him. She smiled- a rather forced smile, and picked up the twisted mass of pipe cleaners. She tried to like it- but he knew. And he left. I laid down on the floor, against the wall on the door side of the craft table. My cousins were making another craft item. It was a flower and the center was made out of a handful of wires that had pastel baubled tips. I thought they were rather pretty, odd, but I liked odd anyways. But I don’t like pastels. I thought about painting some dark and decorating with them. I envisioned the beaded heads of the flowers painted with a dark burgundy shiny paint. And I thought of other colors, and how the paint would work, it would drip down the stems/wires or maybe it would look fake. I remembered I didn’t really like the look of houses crammed with crafts- so even this nice dark oddity would not make me happy. I sat back against the wall. I listened to the people in the other room. My dad stood in the doorway. Something happened with paintbrushes, [I’m forgetting part of my dream here] and my cousin Stacey comes in with, basically, a broom dipped in paint. It seems they were having a contest, who could make the biggest brush. Stacey painted my cheek with the blue paint on the brush. My father laughed. I got up and walked past him- through the kitchen, and out the door. I was outside on the covered patio. There was a shed to my left. My father was with me. The shed was open, and he started to clean it out. There were four flowerpots in there, with a picture of one of us sticking out of each one. I was the second flowerpot. I explained to dad how me and my cousins each made ourselves one when we were kids. We would play with them but when we got older they became garbage bins- and we each had our own. Dad started taking them out of the shed and emptying them into the garbage can. They smelled horrible. They had been sitting in the shed for years, and rainwater had gotten in them and with the rotting garbage, made quite a smelly concoction. I grabbed my pot, and was filled with memories. I was a little girl again, wearing my Easter dress. My sister got the dress for me when I was four or five. It was light pink with lots of ruffles- and a full skirt. I spun around in it- it was so pretty. I grinned up at my father. And he grinned back at me. He could see me as my memory depicted me, and was thrilled to see me as a little girl again. But I went and poured the garbage out of the flowerpot, and it seems the memory flowed into the garbage with it. I was I again. And I was filled with sadness as I remembered I was dead; nothing but a ghost. Though I could enjoy this time with my family-they could see me as a ghost and could interact with me- I couldn’t continue to grow, live my life, have love, a career, or have children. I don’t think I could even leave the surrounding area of the house. But my aunt came up to me andsaid she might be able to bring me back. So had to sit in a sunning chair next to the side of the house- the shed to my left. She sat before me and placed two tubes on the table. One was milky white and had a needle on the end. The other was a clear but very dark reddish brown [kinda looks like the de-wormer I give my kitten]. She had me lay back on the chair. I was surrounded by my family, many faces filled with hope for the return of my life. I wanted it so badly- my head buzzed with it, my muscles tensed. And I was afraid too. There was a darkness inside me, or wanting me, and this would leave me vulnerable for a time. She told me to relax, and to lay back. So I laid back in the green and white lawn chair. I knew the procedure. I had done it before, I was brought back to life before- when I was a child. I suppose it wasn’t fair for me to get yet a second chance- I knew it wasn't allowed. But I didn’t remind anyone, I thought they might not want to try again. Maybe there was more danger in bringing someone back a second time. She picked up the milky white tube thing, it had a needle on the end- like a big seringe. I looked as she leaned over the flesh of my belly, I looked at the ceiling- the overhang of the porch, as she quickly inserted the needle into my belly. I looked down as she finished injecting the last of the milky white liquid. All the people around me were dead silent. Next she had me sit up, she poured the brown liquid into a glass, and handed it to me. She told me to drink. And I did. I drank down the ugly liquid- I don’t think I could taste it, just as I couldn’t feel the needle earlier. Must be the being dead thing. Once it was down, I handed her the class. I suddenly felt unsubstantial. I could feel that I wasn’t alive, I wasn’t real. I felt cold, deep inside me, as if a dozen ice cubes sat in my gut. This is what if feels like to be dead, I thought. Cold and empty and unsubstantial. Fear gripped me again. Then I choked, and coughed, and some of the brown liquid came up. I know I didn’t like this part the first time around. I threw up- I think she held out a pan or something, since non of it landed on me. In all the brown stuff coming from my mouth was pearly white mucus- it held it form, like a string. My aunt grabbed a hold of this. It was as if it was pulling the brown liquid out of my body, along with the coolness and emptiness. It pulled the death itself out of my being. She tugged on the milky white mucus string, and kept it coming. At times it would get really thin, she said it all had to come out, it couldn’t snap because it fit did we couldn’t get the rest of it out of me. And I’d still be dead. Steadily she pulled, I felt the mucus pulling from deep inside me, it had that horrible unnatural feeling of something going the wrong way in you throat. My family stood quietly around. Then I felt warmth inside, life, deep in my body- I realized that all that was left of the darkness was in my chest and it was quickly being replaced by warmth. Then the sound of something falling, we all looked to the door at the side of the building. A box of photos fell- spilling its contents. On the top were photos of my mother and father, and in almost all the pictures, I realized, there was another man, in the background, looking at them. And just looking at him brought me fear. I had no idea who he was, but somehow I knew he was suddenly present and ment me harm. And then the mucus cord snapped. I looked down, and there were blue papers on my lap, stapled at the corner. And the string of mucus was threaded between the papers. My aunt frantically grasped at the end of the mucus line, but it was no use, the line had been broken- and what was left started to dry and harden- the string no longer came from my mouth either. I tried to pull at the bits that were stuck between the sheets of paper, thinking that if I could just get a hold of them I could keep pulling, that I could keep pulling and save myself- I guess I hadn't realized that they were no longer attaached to the mucus now receding down my throat. I could feel the cold and darkness starting to gain strength inside me, and pushing at the warmth that had just entered. My family looked at with sadness. My aunt felt as if she failed. I looked over at the picture- and I did not want to have been defeated by him. I turned to the left, sitting sideways on the chair, people around me moved. I retched, a drop of what looked like blood hit the concrete. I realized it was the brownish liquid. This was encouraging. I sat there, my chest against my knees and focused on bring the stuff up and out of me- I thought on it, focused on what muscles to tighten. I heard my aunt quietly tell me “yes, keep trying.” More brown liquid came up. Then a lot, and in that came a think line of the milky mucus. I grasped it, and pulled. Slowly it came out. It felt horrible, but wonderful at the same time, knowing it was coming out of my body- I would be free of it. My family’s eyes shone- and the silence was heavy. No one had ever been able to continue this process after the line had snapped. This would be considered a miracle. My aunt whispered encouragements. I kept pulling, and then gagged. A large glob came out- about four mucus strings wrapped around itself. It left my throat and hit the concrete with splat, amongst the red brown liquid. I couldn’t believe it. I was free. My family cheered. My aunt was thrilled, this was the first time anyone was able to do that. I felt warm, I felt life returning. I felt happiness. I looked over my shoulder, smiled, and woke up.