Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Fortieth Post.

Brood doesn't want me typing, he wants me resting. I'm still resting, technically, which is more than I can say I've been doing since I got this hole in my abdomen. The sedatives barely work their magic. I don't even want them anymore. I feel like I'm constantly imprisoned in these god awful dreams. I don't know whether I should be more concerned on them or waking up to see Brood staring at me from the chair, a strained and serious look on his face every time. He dismisses himself and leaves without giving me any answers every time. It's frustrating.

Joshua said it would be alright, he offers some comforting words but with all the negativity floating between us I can't bring myself to believe them as I once used to. I don't want to believe it but I can't help but feel he is just doing it because of what he's learning, what my adopted family here has been through. Yea, Joshua, the small fry has seen plenty.
But it feels more like pity on the trials we've dragged our asses through than true comfort. Knowing him it probably leans more towards that.
I don't know. I can't afford to distract myself with the 'what ifs' right now. They are there and I'm prepared for them, that's enough at the moment.

"Could it be the Executor?" Dia asked during a phone conversation we had one evening.

I shrugged to no one, sitting as usual in bed as my wound healed. "Doubtful, not his trademark work."

"He has a trademark?" I could hear the curiosity in her voice.

"No, not like that. I don't know how to explain it. I just know the difference, I can root him out and determine if it is him fucking with my head. I just know." And it bothers me that I do, is what I wanted to add on. I rubbed my eyes tiredly, having just recently woken up from another dose of sedatives. "There is nothing there, no traces. It's just me, all me. These fucked up dreams of... Of... Fuck! I don't even want to mention their contents."

"They're that bad, huh?" She paused. "You have to tell me something about them, Shady, I can't help if you don't."

I knew she was right. "The family, my blood related kin, they never survive. I see Smiles, I see her pretty little self... God, she was a fucking angel. I see her, wings torn off, gown of white drenched in red. Her eyes... You know, they were the color of the center of a flame, that magnificent blue."

"You cared about her a lot."

I didn't answer that. "I kill them, every time in my dreams. At least, that is what is implied. It's never direct, the act of me doing such at least. It's not like I see myself bringing down the axe. But it's there, as I am just standing next to them. Their blood is on me. I see Billy, his death just replays again and again. The look on his face, the horror. I think what bothers me most is the confusion, though. Because he just didn't know why he was dying, what it was for."

Dia sighed on the other end of the line. "He didn't die for anything, he was murdered, Shady. Road Runner used Prosper to murder Billy to get to you. It didn't work."

"It did." I responded without missing a beat. "All these memories are trying to fit back into place now. It just this clusterfuck of information, of my life, and it's trying to calm down and return to being in order. I keep going through emotional bursts, most of which are violent, which are due to my mind and memories being in such a chaotic state. Something surfaces, emotions follow from that memory, I spazz and try to calm down all at once. Joshua was getting on my ass when I got out of the shower before and was pathetically limping back down to this hole. I grabbed his face and threw him to the floor without even thinking. Brood dragged me off before I could doing anything else, and I know I would have done more. I just... That kind of bloodlust doesn't just disappear." I blurted out, hitting the back of my head into the headboard a few times.

Dia was patient as always when we talked. One of the very few people who could relate to my own experiences and respond on a personal and observational level. It was pleasant. "You've always known about your limits and what you're capable of. I've read it in your blog and have seen it myself, Shady."

"Except this is different." I concluded for her. "Because before I didn't have any proof, I didn't have the memories. Now it's all there."

"Tell me about your dreams." Dia said calmly, already knowing I'd blow off the question if she had asked.

"Blood, the sound of breaking bones, torn limbs laying about, confused and horrified eyes, faint screaming. It's mostly silent. I'm there, usually as a child again, like how the Caged One appeared to me near the end. All I am doing is just standing, with their blood on my hands, and an axe or knife in my hand."

"What happens with your family?"

"They die." I spat, she cleared her throat on the other end of the line. I elaborated. "It switches from observer point of view to first person point of view. It's chaotic, never still as one. Just a little girl with an axe nearly dragging on the floor behind her as she enters each room. Dead siblings, dead parents, dead dog.  It's like a tornado hit the white picket fence life style." I rolled my eyes. "It just starts with me entering their rooms, walking and standing in there, just looking down at their sleeping forms. It cuts to just red, and I realize each time I'm looking at a pool of blood closely, and when the dream me stands back up the bodies are destroyed. The axe still has... Meat on it. There are bloody footprints leading through the house from me."

"That's pretty gory. You said you're just a kid in them?"

"Usually. There are times when I'm not either."

"How old are you in the other ones?"

I paused. "Present day age." I could practically hear her registering the information and what it could mean. "There are a lot of possibilities, what ifs, a lot of unanswered questions. But that's a nightmare for you."

"Who else do you kill in these dreams?"

"Everyone. Everything." I glanced at the knife next to me, regarding it for a moment. "Nothing escapes. Children have tried to crawl to their freedom, when the focus comes down to their lower half I realize in the dream the childhood me took their legs. And then proceeds to take their arms to see just how else they'll try and escape. It's graphic details when it comes to people I don't recognize. Except one."


"Yea. She... She gets it the worst." I rub my forehead. "We're at the fort I made as a kid in the forest. I don't even know what age we are originally then, but in the dream it flickers between all different ones. From when we were kids to present day, everything in between. It's like, every other sentence the dream changes the age, I can't ever be sure. But we're standing there and at first it's like a silent movie, as the dream fills in all the details around us and comes into focus. I can see her unhappy, I hate it when she's unhappy and try and work through changing it when she is. Or was. But in the dream I'm just staring at her, holding a bloody knife. I look stoic almost, maybe even a little disgusted. She's moving her hands, tears are forming in her eyes, she's pacing back and forth... Then all the noise comes in, but there isn't any. The forest is dead silent, I can only hear her choking back sobs. I can just hear her breathing and I don't look away. It continues like that for a minute maybe before she ends voicing her concerns and I can hear her clearly now, "How could you do this to everyone? They loved you. I love you!" and I react." I stopped, biting the inside of my cheek at where the dream was going.

"How do you react to that?"

"I become angry and close the distance, grabbing her shoulder in one hand and stab her in the chest with the knife. It's not a clean kill, I twist the blade and rip it out. I don't give her a second to breathe, to react, I just stab her again and again, even as she falls to the ground, when all the life is sucked out of her. I stopped counting how many times it was. Afterwards I just sit, straddling her dead body. The look on my face is back to being stoic. The blackness comes back, the quiet, peaceful blackness I used to love when I had no memories. When I didn't have to think, or feel, just was at peace. In the dream, that same blackness is the opposite. This tidal wave of emotional trauma, guilt, remorse, and hate comes flooding. I'm just in the blackness, screaming and crying, trying to claw out of there. The one place I was able to feel the consequences of having emotions, it seemed."

"You have reason to be upset and concerned. These are horrible nightmares."

"What bothers me the most is the fact I'm betraying them. She sincerely informs me of her love and in return I stab her until her chest is beyond repair. To be trusted and betray that trust, break, destroy, and smother those that have a place in whatever heart I've got left." I sighed. "I just looked so angry and disgusted, like what she was I just wanted to see erased. I've noticed in my dreams that look is directed towards everyone. I don't understand why."

"Shady, you have to give it time. You just got your memories back and suffered a bad injury. You can't have all the answers at once, there's a lot of memories and your mind needs to heal as much as your body."

I glowered. "I'm impatient. I have all the answers back but they're still all in a clusterfuck that I can't sort out this from that yet. Ughs."

"If you need anything, any sort of help I'm here."

"I know, and it's appreciated." 

Dia and I branched off to talk about human brains and thought patterns from there. Dream theories, which led to jokes, which led to being completely off topic. After making a circle back to the original topic she said she had to run errands in the morning and would give me a call later to check in. Which she did indeed do but it was not what I expected. More on that later.

My nightmares have made Brood become alert, even cautious around me. Joshua questions him but is ignored, no answers are given and it's starting to become an issue. I've reached my tolerance point.

So yea. Now I'm going to just sit back here and hope to relax. Mr. Sunshine is with me, again. He seems to show up often when these dreams happen, sympathetic eyes are the second thing I see when I awaken. I don't know what's going on.
What does someone have to do around here to get some clear fucking answers?

Stay safe,


  1. Hmmm... it looks like you're losing it, aren't you?

  2. Ooh baby <3 You're so hot when you're dreaming about murder.

    The night is still young, how about a visit from your hubby on Valentine's Day to cheer you up? You could show off that neat little scar...

    Thuggee, shhh. Remember what we discussed.

  3. Thuggee, perhaps. Probably. Maybe just a little. Awareness and preparations for such a possibility make things better, however.


    Ughs... To the first and last part.

    You missed it, dear. I baked you something nice. Oh well, another time.

    1. I'll be calling you again soon. I need some advice.

  4. Fine by me, dear. Your calls are always welcomed.