They start off with me falling.
Each and every time.
I am falling for a long time before I hit the ground. I feel hands reach out and touch my arms. My legs. I feel it happen. They pull at my hair. Scratch at my skin.
When I land on the ground. I am stood in a circle of fire. The flames are taller than me and I can’t see through them, but I can hear my name. They are almost singing my name. Hundreds of voices all singing my name.
When the fire dies, I see a woman stood there. Maybe in her late sixties. She is wearing a long red dress. Her eyes are the same colour. Blood red. She is hunched over, and her hair reaches down to the ground. She is stood smiling at me. She says the same thing to me every single time. She says my name but barely whispers it. The fire dies down and I can see a group of people holding hands, all swaying slowly, mouthing my name. There are no emotions in their eyes. They are vacant. There is nothing in their expressions that say emotion. Nothing.
The woman puts her hand out to me, and I hesitate to take it. It I covered in blood, leaking of her palms. Dry blood covers her mouth and her neck. She is smiling at me, waiting for me to take her hand.
Then I take it. And I wake up.
Over and over.
It happens over and over, and I cannot stop it. I can never stop it.
Because, weirdly, it is the first time I have felt welcomed or wanted or loved. It is the first time where I have felt like I belong. And it sounds messed up but to feel people say my name feels like I am at the centre of something bigger than myself. Bigger than everything.
I don’t know if they are just dreams. I don’t know if they mean anything at all. I am scared to know. I am scared to find out.
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