My dreams are dark.
During the day, when sunlight reaches my eyes and I can feel the wind upon my skin; when I can smell the flowers in the air and taste the sweetness of a ripe fruit, I wish for this.
I wish for this world to stand still — for endless daylight, for night to never come. In the dark, I see visions of a future I hope desperately does not come to pass. I see my family withering and dying in wretched, horrifying ways, their souls crying out beneath shells of pale flesh and thinning hair, hungering eyes and slavering teeth as if the very essence of our being has been stripped of them and they are nothing more than devouring shells.
The dream repeats itself. Over and over again, I see myself die to this. I see others whose faces I’ve yet to recognize. It’s possible that they don’t exist, my mind filling in the blanks where faces should be. It is something I once pursued, to find each piece of each dream and place it so that I might know what was to come…
It is not the only dream.
I see pale skin splitting open to reveal crow’s wings, black and stringy and spread across the sky in flightless granduer. I see ashen skin warming to sickening red, our teeth growing into the fangs of a beast…and our eyes flaring wildly, erratically, as if under a demon’s spell.
I see…and I dream. I often wish that night would never come.