Dreams often take images from the subconscious mind, which is why they’re so often left up to interpretation. Mine are no different, except for the fact that my own memory has been so thoroughly compromised through the machinations of circumstance and the ever vigilant servants of the Centre.
I dream of many things...I always have. The things they’ve made me do, the things I can’t remember...like my parents.
I suppose that’s the one dream that haunted me the longest, and in some ways still does. In the dream, I’m surrounded by clocks, and in the distance I can see a house. I’m on the front lawn...at least, me when I was younger, about four or five years old, not long before the Centre took me, I’m guessing.
I also see my mother...she’s hanging wash on the line outside, her back to me. I can hear her voice calling my name as my child self stares at me...trying to tell me *something* with his eyes...but even when I call out to my mother, she doesn’t turn around. I never see her face in the dreams. I didn’t then...and I don’t now.
What’s disturbing is that now? I *have* seen her. I have a photograph of my mother, and I’ve seen her in person...I was so close to meeting her, to holding her...
Yet in my dreams, I still can’t see her face. I can’t dream of my younger self running into her arms, of her turning around to smile...perhaps it’s because I don’t have those memories anymore, nothing for my mind to manifest. Sure, the imagination can do wonders...but mine was pretty severely restricted while I was growing up.
Maybe that’s why I can’t see her face, though...I need that memory. Going to her, putting my arms around her...maybe it’s one of those dreams that don’t come in sleep. You have to make it happen before you can ever even see it.
Well...just like nothing gold can stay, neither can the darkness. And when this waking nightmare that is the Centre is finally over, you can bet your life that I’ll find my family...my father, myself...and my mother.
And together...we’ll make the dream come true.
Muse: Jarod
Fandom: The Pretender
Words: 379
I dream of many things...I always have. The things they’ve made me do, the things I can’t remember...like my parents.
I suppose that’s the one dream that haunted me the longest, and in some ways still does. In the dream, I’m surrounded by clocks, and in the distance I can see a house. I’m on the front lawn...at least, me when I was younger, about four or five years old, not long before the Centre took me, I’m guessing.
I also see my mother...she’s hanging wash on the line outside, her back to me. I can hear her voice calling my name as my child self stares at me...trying to tell me *something* with his eyes...but even when I call out to my mother, she doesn’t turn around. I never see her face in the dreams. I didn’t then...and I don’t now.
What’s disturbing is that now? I *have* seen her. I have a photograph of my mother, and I’ve seen her in person...I was so close to meeting her, to holding her...
Yet in my dreams, I still can’t see her face. I can’t dream of my younger self running into her arms, of her turning around to smile...perhaps it’s because I don’t have those memories anymore, nothing for my mind to manifest. Sure, the imagination can do wonders...but mine was pretty severely restricted while I was growing up.
Maybe that’s why I can’t see her face, though...I need that memory. Going to her, putting my arms around her...maybe it’s one of those dreams that don’t come in sleep. You have to make it happen before you can ever even see it.
Well...just like nothing gold can stay, neither can the darkness. And when this waking nightmare that is the Centre is finally over, you can bet your life that I’ll find my family...my father, myself...and my mother.
And together...we’ll make the dream come true.
Muse: Jarod
Fandom: The Pretender
Words: 379