02/25/06

I’m in a park, rushing to get to the center of the park where it is deserted of most people. Running, my skirts billowing behind my feet and legs, hair brushing each shoulder in the stride of my run. The knife I carry banging up against my hip, the cold metal bouncing from the belt. Finally, I am there. Kneeling in the grass, I pull the knife from the folds of my dress, the steel glinting in the fading gray light of the twilight. And they arrive. Slowly at first, but their numbers increase and they crowd around me. Their bluish skin seeming irridescent in the dying sunlight. And they are here to witness and encourage my step into a new realm. Demons? Angels? Some others? I could never tell you. “You must hurry,” they say in unison. I take the knife and plunge it to the hilt into my abdomen, one swift movement, vertically into my stomach, directly below my ribs. And I throw up. “Hurry. Continue,” they cry. Weeping, I pull out the knife and immediately plunge it again into my body, diagonally into the center of my abdomen. And throw up again, this time a bubbling bloody mixture. “Be strong,” they hiss. I repeat the stabbing process twice more, and look down at the red mess on my dress, satisfied that I have finished my task. “You have done well,” one says, taking my hand as I curl into a ball on the bloodied grass, “you have done well.” They all begin to fade away, revealing two men jogging by in the park, who see me, and frantically run over, scoop me up into their arms, and I pass out. Waking up after an indeterminate amount of time, I find myself on the ivory steps outside of my father’s house. Looking down, my wounds are closed, healed, and nothing but the slightly puffy scar tissue in the shape of a giant “M” remain. I walk up the steps and the dream ends as the door opens for my entrance.