Dreams of grief and the worm-eaters

[kajarainbow]

I was a monster that wailed, and frightened the other people. They captured a sample of my blood and could not match it to anyone known. And people made me into their own legends, interpreting me in their own terms. They placed ads in the newspaper begging me not to take their children, or asking me to do certain things to certain people. I questioned why people made those assumptions, and others did not take me seriously, for they did not know I was the monster. As to why I was wailing? Grief at the state of many things in the world.

I was telling a story. There were those people who settled into a hideous yet comfortable routine. I forgot how it produced all those corpses, certainly it was not necessarily by standard violence. But at any rate, those people found that those corpses would sprout a certain delicious vegetation in them. Those people, I said, would eat the children of death. The products of the old and gone. And they would become akin to the dead, unchanging and static in how they approached the world. Those few who withdrew from this practice watched aghast. The ones listening to my story did not fully understand its horror.

I was a boy who was sad about not being a girl, and I had a certain bauble that I would treasure. Others did not understand why I kept it.

Being misunderstood seemed to be the common theme of this round of dreams.

Comments

[pinkheartred.livejournal.com]

I like the wird bauble. it's used far too infrequently in writing.