[stylist] BP Sharing writing

[Bridgit Pollpeter via stylist]

The following is something I jotted down. Have an entire story brewing
in my mind. Inspiration is from my ability to lucid dream. Thought I'd
share this little scrap I've been toying with.

Bridgit P


I'm dreaming; I know I'm dreaming. Yet I can't wake, and I'm waiting to
discover what will happen.

The sun streams in a mists of soothing gold. The sky calms with its soft
but vivid shade of blue. Everywhere I look, this world gleams with
brilliance. It's like in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy leaves the
black-and-white gloom of her house, stepping into the Technicolor of Oz.
Everything is too radiant to be real, and yet it's beautiful.

I lay in the downy grass letting the sun wrap me in warmth. I close my
eyes and listen to birdsong. This world is lulling, hypnotic. I want
nothing more than to drift forever in this iridescent world.

Something nudges me, and I bolt up, sensing-I don't know-something feels
out of place, wrong. Twenty-feet in front of me, a figure strides
towards me. My heart pounds and I glance around, nervous, looking for an
escape. This is just a dream, so I can wake myself. I've done it before.
I do it every time I have this dream.

The figure approaches. They are wearing a cloak with a hood that hides
their face. I can't tell if it's a man or woman or even human.
Foreboding races through my body, sending tingles to each nerve ending.

Wake up, Dulcy, come on, wake up.

The figure stops only a couple of feet from where I sit. They stretch
their arm towards the horizon and point with a long, slender, white
finger. "Look." Their voice gives no clue to gender. It's husky and
quiet. "Seek."

Standing, I search in the direction they are pointing to. In the
distance, where land and sky meet, I notice what looks like a smudge.
It's as though something has marred a painting. It's out of place, not
belonging to the landscape.

"You must find us." The figure does not move. They continue to point
like a signpost.

"I don't understand," I say.

"Look." An urgency infuses their voice.

Shading my eyes, I look towards the horizon again. Something moves back
and forth across the dark line creasing the horizon. Stepping closer and
squinting my eyes, it looks as though a section of blue sky has torn and
flaps in the breeze.

"It looks like a torn painting," I say.

"Look, seek."

I turn, gazing back, freezing in fear. Chills manipulate my body, my
legs wobbly, unable to support me. A dark, wraith-like figure approaches
the tear in the sky. It turns, staring right at me. It takes all my
strength to remain standing.

Wake up, wake up, wake up.

The wraith grabs at the smudge with a claw-like hand. Its stare is
piercing. Fear holds me captive as I struggle to wake, to change the
scene before me.

The wraith holds a maniacal grin as it tears at the smudge. A great
wrenching sound like cloth being torn apart flows all around in
surround-sound.

Wind rushes from the gap like a wild animal howling. Warm and cold air
collide creating turmoil. The melody of birds dwindles into a single
crow caw. The sky is an inky blue. I shiver as a chill blankets the
atmosphere.

This beautiful world begins to fade. The suns golden rays fade into cold
ribbons of pale yellow. They still embrace me, but the embrace has no
warmth. All around are varying degrees of fading, like an old painting
left in the sun for too long.

"Stop," I shout. A cold sweat covers my face in a sheen. I try to move
my frozen limbs. My movements are slow like an arthritic old woman
trudging up stairs.

A howl escapes from the wraith. Its eyes have turned blood red. It
speaks, sounding like heavy stones grating against one-another. "You
can't stop what is in motion. We will have it, and we will have you
too."

Another figure appears. This time I can make out a male figure. He looks
young, my age. His dark hair is short but the chilly wind issuing from
the now large tear in the horizon whips his strands around as he faces
the wraith.

There's something familiar about him. He's tall and lean with the hint
of muscles bulging underneath his swarthy skin, a hint of the man to
come. I feel a sense of pride and longing as I gaze at him. Something in
me wells up filling my heart. It seems to give me courage against the
fear turning me to stone.

He turns his dark eyes on me, and a surge of heat travels through my
body melting the layer of ice.

"Find me." Despite his years, his voice is already deep. "RUN."

There's something I'm trying to remember, trying to figure out. It
doesn't come. Tears trickle down my cheeks as I watch what I can't
control despite the fact I know I'm dreaming. And yet this feels more
solid than a dream.

The wraith pulls a sword from its tattered, black robes. Terror
threatens me.

This is a dream, Dulcy. You have the power to change it.

I'm desperately trying to move us out of this realm. I frantically
search my mind, attempting to change this scene, to wake up.

The mystery figure speaks again in their husky whisper. "Until you
unlock the temple, no change will happen."

"Temple>? What temple?" I ask.

"Seek." The voice is filled with dread and urgency.

Suddenly, the wraith throws its sword at the boy. He looks at me with
sadness in his eyes, and I scream.

Holding my hands to either side of my face, I shout no. The world begins
to grow apart into pixels just as the sword reaches the boy.

Darkness shrouds my room as I bolt up in bed. I'm sweating and breathing
as though I just ran a race. Television fuzz pops and swirls in front of
me, the remnants of my dream. I switch the lamp on my night table on,
letting the contents of my room come into focus.

Piles of fashion magazines mingle with books-Wuthering Heights,
One-hundred Years of Solitude, The Complete Book of Fairytales. clothes
litter various sections of the room, my vanity full of make-up, jewelry
and perfume. Pictures of friends and family adorn my cream and lavender
walls. Folds of my lilac and silver comforter are bunched up in my
hands.

It was just a dream. It's okay.

But I remember it with vivid clarity. It's the same dream I've had every
night for weeks.