I'm going to tell you something not many people know about me.
I had a dream once, several years ago, probably towards the end of my 8th grade year. I like to say my dreams aren't very original, even though they're seriously weird sometimes. They like to have recurring items or themes- usually involving someone chasing me and wanting me to be captured (not dead, just captured- imprisoned) or having some abnormal ability. And these dreams come frequently, mind you. Several times a week at least, being similar in idea but with variation. I could be running through the school, I could be running through a woods, I could be driving through Edmond- it just depends. But there was once a time where I didn't dream about these things. I didn't dream about being some hunted, cornered animal, desperate to get away, desperate to be free.
I dreamed there was a world somewhere in the heart of darkness, where the only light that could be seen was fake and artificial, barely strong enough to light the streets of a devoid New York City-esque setting. And the buildings that hung overhead were a dark violet streamed with tiny red lights, and decorated with obsidian windows. And the people walking the streets were hunched over, inhuman shapes with a cloak laid over them, faces shrouded in mystery, and placid eyes an unnatural crimson glow with no pupils. And they walked- in swaying lines throughout the streets with no interaction. No words. No noise. Not even as they walked, not even as their covered feet hit the cobblestone pathways. And it was amazing how I could see this all so vividly, looking so real despite how ridiculous it all seemed. There were things, though, that I could not see, but I knew. I knew they existed, that things were happening on the far sides of the city. I knew there was a man searching for something. And another waited for something to come to him in a gothic church just down the road.
And there I was- me. Only, I knew it wasn't me, because even though I could control myself (something that rarely happens in my dreams, surprisingly enough) and what my thought process was, I was not entirely myself. I felt power at my fingertips. I felt unafraid of the shadows closing in around me. But that was before I realized that the man searching was looking for me. The man waiting was waiting for me. And the words that flashed through my mind, noiseless but ever present and strong, were the words, "I need to find him." But it wasn't talking about the one waiting for me. It wasn't talking about the searcher. I don't know who it was talking about.
I crept in the shadows, but it seemed as though my skin was illuminating in the unknown realm, the fell world I was trapped in. It was impossible to blend in with the wraiths that walked in their single-file lines, lockstep, mindless followers. Neutral as they were, I felt an immediate dislike for them- an aversion. And my footsteps fell softly in rhythm with theirs, though my pace quickened to avoid their lines, their crimson gazes, and I cast a wary look over my shoulder occasionally. Do not get caught - some unknown voice warned me in silence. It didn't take long to find the gothic cathedral, towering over the street in its ghastly glory, its spires catching the dim light and casting eerie shadows and posing as an uncanny silhouette against the horizon. I drew back in abhorrence for the supernatural aura that radiated in the air. It was asphyxiating, but I forced myself up the steps, though the steps sounded more like gunshots now, accompanied by a gentle, yet allegro-paced percussion of heartbeats. Thump-thump... Thump-thump... Thump-thump... Hand drawing open the massive doors, I let the pale light filter into the pitch-black interior of the building, a dark wind pushing against my back and my long brown hair whipping forth, slightly obstructing my view.
I walked in, the back wall littered and infested with what appeared to be darkness itself, where a cross should have been, where Christ's broken form should have hung. The mosaic windows were mold-infected and grimy. I stopped in the center of the room, the pews to my left and right shattered and broken, the wood decaying. And through the darkness, I saw his form, limber, delicate, and a small glow amidst the shadows. He stirred, from his sitting position in front of the podium, to a more up-right stance. His eyes were the color of a partially veiled sky- a pale blue-gray that haunted, his hair little auburn ringlets, and his skin by far the fairest I had seen. A halo of light circulated about him, matching his plain white attire. And yet, atop his head, he wore a golden, almost laced-together crown.
He was an angel. Or at least his outwardly appearance suggested it. There were no harps, no wings as in movies or paintings. And yet, I believed, at first, this was what he was... And yet, there was that indescribable chill in my heart that rooted my feet to the stone floor, and I watched, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. Or perhaps he was a devil in sheep's clothing. Certainly the fair skin and ringlets suggested otherwise, but the slightest traces of malicious intent seemed to decorate his knowing smile. No... More like knowing smirk, as he rose with grand confidence, and offered his hand to me. "I've been waiting for you."
"Where is he?" I demanded, fists clenched at my sides.
"He's here," he answered, voice a sickly sweet melody I wanted to drown out. "And I'll let you see him."
I've always been intuitive. I always know when there's something going on behind me... Even if I choose not to acknowledge it. I turned, though, acknowledging this- an intruder in our conversation. An armored servant of the non-angel, no doubt, staying in the shadows, reminding me that I was alone and outnumbered. I jerked my head back to the front of the church, trying to force my voice to sound more adamant, "You didn't answer my question. Where is he?" I was answered with a laugh- I always hated it when I was answered with a laugh. Because it always told me that they knew something I didn't.
He looked at me, like an adult to a child- almost in that insulting, pitying way, with his voice almost tainted with melancholy, "There is a gateway," He said, and I didn't understand what he was getting at. I listened in uncomfortable, mistrusting silence. "You will be free to go to him there... If you care enough for him." A gateway. I didn't understand why even the devil himself seemed to fear what was beyond the gate. But there wasn't much time for contemplation. I was here for one reason.
"I'll go."
"You're not scared?" His voice was like honey, though it left me with disgust. I allowed my lip to curl in displeasure as he chuckled. "You never know... What lies beyond the Gateway." That was when the capital 'G' was tokened to the name, when I understood that there was some other factor about this gate that made it unlike the lifeless objects I passed through to get here. If even demons feared this sort of paranormal, who was I to challenge it?
"It doesn't matter. I'm going after him," I was always a stubborn person. I knew it would lead to my downfall one day. And that day had to come sooner or later.
"Are you sure?"
The daunting final warning.
"I'll be back for you."
The malicious final threat.
"I'll be waiting... Eagerly," His voice was a song- mocking me. I bit back a retort and turned to leave, my back facing him. It crossed my mind that it was all a ploy to get me to lower my guard. But no move was made- not even from the silent observer ducked in the shadows of a crust-covered pillar. The doors flung open before my cold hands as I stepped out into the dim light of the dark city. Not to my surprise, I saw the lines of soul-less entities, still weaving like ants through the grass. I turned, taking a path around the far side of the cathedral, following nothing but instinct at whatever dark breeze guided my feet. And on the other side of the crumbling, cracked, gothic structure, I saw it- the four center pillars keeping up an ancient, gothic overhang. And as my feet began down the path towards what appeared to be a massive set of iron gates, I felt the fear began to stab viciously at my heart, sending doubts hurtling through my mind.
You don't even know what's on the other side.
You can't do this.
You're going to die.
And yet, I stood before the formidable set of gates- so normal, but so abnormal all at once. I reached up, traced my hand along the bars, feeling the cold, ancient metal under my fingertips, then craned my neck back to get the full image of what I was facing. If I had not passed into the heart of despair, then I knew I was bound for it- that, and who knew what else. In the aura surrounding the Gateway, I felt so much- wordless emotions that almost sent my knees to collapse and tears to formulate in my eyes. It was a land even more desolate than this- without light entirely, and perhaps more than that. Perhaps even without God and his mercy, his peace, a place where He could not even seen what was happening to one of His children.
But I couldn't think of that. I couldn't think of my fears, my hopes, my dreams, and what I was leaving behind if I should never come back. Because my right hand clasped the lock on the Gateway, and my other hand reinforced the first as I gave a sudden, ungentle tug. The lock fell away, clattering to the ground, and the creaking of doors opening accompanied a sudden gale that burst forth, drawing me closer, even as my feet did not move. It began to gape at me, its secrets still shrouded by shadows, still unknown, still so uncanny...
... And then my alarm went off.
And that was it. The end of the dream, the end of the most vivid, intense experience of my subconscious. And there were no answers- years later, even, after I thought about it, wondered if I should have controlled myself to do something else- like not open the Gateway, or perhaps opened it faster so that I could have had some sort of satisfaction. But there was nothing. No answer as to who I was looking for, no answer as to why I was there- not even a name to the face of delicate evil I had encountered in the cathedral. No reasoning for the mindless creatures that roamed the streets. Nothing. And that was the most frustrating part of the story.
I tried to think of what could have been on the other side. And no decent answer has revealed itself to me. And over four years after, I've been left unhappy with the ending- too many loose ends for my liking. The intensity of the dream was beyond anything else I'd experienced- I lived and breathed each moment of it as though it were life, were reality. It seemed so unfair that it should have ended so abruptly, where I knew there could have been the means for a decent story, a story that perhaps could've done more than entertain.
And so I wait. I wait to see what happens to my alternate universe self, the one held in limbo for many years now. I wait to see what happens on the far side of the Gateway. I wait to see who I'm looking for and why. And if I ever do come back for my vengeance- because I know I do seek vengeance against the cathedral-dweller, but I'm never told why. And perhaps that's the most meaningful part of the dream entirely. Not to say that I believe each dream has a meaning, but perhaps some do more than others.
Perhaps there was need to fear the Gateway- which is what mankind does not know.
And yet... I stormed into the heart of darkness. I stormed into the unknown that is feared- though, perhaps it is feared because it is not understood, as I could not understand the things that orbited it, the feelings that rushed through me even upon nearing the object. I could not understand, but I could understand the danger... Though the danger was quickly surpassed by the need to enter in spite of the hazards. If you wanted me to analyze it, I would tell you that it was a narrative on how mankind must throw itself into the uncertainty in order to carry on. But who can truly fathom the secrets of the subconscious?
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