Human Dream
I woke up laughing, an uncommon phenomenon within the Swan household. Mother always woke screaming and father slept like the dead; he's only stirred by the morning church bells. In my dream, I walked across a muddy field outside of London and watched as a fox was chased by a strange creature with pale skin and a harsh growl. The creature appeared to be human, though it drained the fox of its very life in the flap of a hummingbird's wings. The creature turned to me with a wide smile on its face, its crimson eyes bright with hunger. I turned to run, but am killed before I can step into the surrounding forest. The dream was so absurd, I woke up laughing.
There was this terrifying feeling lingering at the back of my mind which wouldn't go away. No matter how many times I thought of daisy chains and mother's freshly baked bread in an attempt to calm myself, it was still there - the terror. The memory of its crimson eyes stayed behind my own, and was as clear as day each time I blinked.
I felt like a sword was being hung over my head-as if the executioner were standing right behind me. A nervous reaction, I told myself as I walked down the lane to the well with a bucket to fill.
People crowded the way as I walked. I saw Mr. Smith whistling ahead of me. He had gentle blue eyes and was the nicest person you could ever meet, when he left the house, of course. Mr. Smith's favourite thing to do was lie on the floor in his house and stare at the ceiling - be it summer or winter. No-one ever questioned him on his silent musings, and I felt no motivation to either.
It came as no surprise when I tripped over my dress and fell to the ground. Hearing me fall, Mr. Smith turned, his wrinkled face concerned, and helped me to my feet. I could feel the gravel from the road in my skin and it hurt, a lot.
"Are you all right Isabella?" he asked quietly while examining my now bleeding hands. "You should get this taken care of."
I nodded in agreement. I withdrew from his grip, telling him I appreciated his concern, and that I would get my father to bandage my hands. I rubbed them against my olive-green dress and winced as the blood ran onto the coarse fabric and small rocks fell to the floor. I raised my skirt slightly and ran quickly away from his prying eyes. The bucket's handle chafed against the tender skin as I came to the well.
The feel of the executioner's sword above my head returned. The hair at the back of my neck rose, and I turned quickly, glancing towards the side streets. A flash of bright white caught my eye, and it disappeared just as quickly as it had come. I breathed in deeply and turned back to the well, tying my bucket to the rope and hoisting it downwards into the darkness.
"You're mad, woman. They'll send you to the convent soon enough," I murmured to no-one. What on earth moves that fast? I wondered while I carried on easing my bucket downwards in the well. I tried not to concentrate on the sharp pain as I felt gravel press deeper into my skin. I tried to ignore the sword dangling above my head, and how every limb in my body screamed at me to run and hide. What's the worst that could happen? The creature from my dream might appear. I scoffed as I thought about its frightening red eyes and the fox it had abruptly destroyed.
"Isabella," a whisper as silent as the breeze reached my ears. My head snapped up in horror. The street was empty in front of me, and I turned to see what might stand behind me. Nothing. My bloody hand unconsciously clutched at the wooden pendant around my neck. My mind turned back to the ropes and the well, and eventually, my hands followed suit.
"Come on, don't be like that," the voice said loudly, as if it were being whispered in my ear. My breath caught in my throat, and I turned to my right where the creature from my dream stood arrogantly. His hair was dark, and the pallor of his skin disconcerted me, but his eyes were...indescribable. They were red and bright and yet so kind, despite all the natural assumptions that this man was in some way associated with the devil. Suddenly, he stood just a hair's breadth away, and I let out a small choke of air, frozen to my spot in the street. Now the sword was lifted, and I suspected I would follow the same fate as the fox - dream or not. He took me into his arms roughly, and darted back into the alley where he was standing just half a second ago. We seemed to fly over the town wall and into the surrounding forests. I closed my eyes to see my parents' faces one last time before this strange man killed me. I could not bring myself to scream because I was too taken with fear; somehow, I knew that there would be no aid to my unlikely situation.
His steady breathing echoed in my ears while we flew. I imagined the thick trees surrounding us and the birds that took flight as the stranger took me through the dark undergrowth. He stopped suddenly, as the wind that was blowing my hair over my head disappeared. But now my fear heightened. This would be the end, I was sure of it. The man lowered me to the grassy forest floor, and my dress fell back into place. My hands stung as they flailed in the dusty air while I tried to catch my balance. Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw what I had imagined in my dream, but there was no fox carcass lying anywhere.
The trees I'd seen were in an identical formation, an assortment of elm and birch trees that seemed to lie so that a small meadow could lead the odd bit of sunlight to the forest floor. Oak trees were the main body of the thick canopy though. Their wide branches stretched out around and above, reaching for the skies - I might be doing something like that very soon. I heard the man clear his throat behind me as I examined my surroundings.
"I am Henry," the man said as he came to take my sore hand. His beauty dazed me at first, before I thought of what he might have done to the fox last night. Everything was still in perfect clarity.
"I've seen you before," I blurted out, my voice was surprisingly strong. I guessed it was probably because I already accepted my fate - death. "You killed a fox, and then you killed me."
The man stared into my nervous eyes, scrutinizing me and almost certainly questioning my sanity. "I didn't kill you," his tone was matter of fact as he told me this.
Yet, I finished mentally. A flicker of a smile pulled his lips upwards in amusement. Or even, fascination?
"But I did kill a fox - many in fact - but how would you know? How can you have seen me?" he remembered with a puzzled expression. His freezing fingers trailed up my thin arm and stopped short of my collar. The rest of his body followed soon afterwards and his mouth was inches away from my neck. Again, every nerve told me to run or fight or do something, not let him kill me. But I was resigned-prepared to die at age fifteen. I wasn't prepared to answer his question though, because I didn't know how I had known. In truth, it was just a stupid dream after all, wasn't it?
"Just kill me," I responded shortly. My eyes shuttered closed and with that he pressed his lips to my neck while his hands wrapped around my shoulders, restraining me. I scoffed, as if I was going to fight back.
"Actually, I planned to make you one of my own," he said as coldly as his frigid breath fanned over my skin, and I couldn't help but hear the unadulterated threat lacing his silken voice. I just had no idea what that meant. I never had time to figure it out before his lips pressed against my throat once more, and I felt a numbness flood my mind. This was slowly followed by a searing pain and heat. I felt like I was roasting over an open fire. I screamed. The terrible pain scorched every flake of skin, my heart raced and blood pulsed in my ears. Henry pressed his lips to my neck once more and then slowly lowered me to the ground before I could collapse. How would I endure this? I thought of the Lord's Prayer and wondered why I was damned to hell. Was this punishment for a white lie that I told?
Pater noster, qui es in caelis:
sanctificetur Nomen Tuum;
adveniat Regnum Tuum;
fiat voluntas Tua,
sicut in caelo, et in terra.
Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie;
et dimitte nobis debita nostra,
Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris;
et ne nos inducas in tentationem;
sed libera nos a Malo.
But the fire raged on; maybe God willed it, or perhaps he just wasn't listening.
