Post by Deleted on Apr 16, 2016 23:53:00 GMT -5
(PART 1)
Suppose that dreams are important. What if they tell you something about yourself or others? It’s normal to dream and most of us think nothing of it. The only difference is that I can change my dreams. In my heart I knew how it was going to end but I could wake myself and change it. Some say that a person like that is powerful. Really I knew better. Dreams are a vivid part of the sleeping consciousness. My imagination was always active so it was easy to write it all off.
Even if I never talked about my dreams they stayed with me. There was a certain darkness to them that I couldn’t forget. At times I was capable of things I never thought that I could do and then I was ashamed of my actions at other points. Honestly nobody was going to invade my homeland. Not here, not in my little country. I pushed all the dreams into the back of my mind. So what if I could change my dreams and cheat the imaginary fate? All this scenarios in my head were completely useless. If I told anyone they would think that I’m crazy. Sometimes I still look out the back of the smithy just to be sure that the hills are still there. Over the hills and into the woods. That is the refuge for a time. Ultimately it fails in the end but I’ve never dreamed past the invaders finding me. How I escape was never determined.
My least favorite of the dreams is the earliest one. I grew up just like it was anticipated and I had to move to the inner part of the village to work at the smithy. That was expected. Just a matter of life. That I could say was perhaps the boring and grounded side of me. It is exactly what happened. I grew up and here I am working in the middle of the village at the smithy and finishing my apprenticeship.
Sparks flew each time I hit the horse shoe. Strangers had come into the town and needed a new shoe for the animal. Must have thrown one when it was coming over the hills. After I finished with the shoe I stepped out to the stall to put it on the horse’s hoof. The well stained thick leather apron bent at a funny angle when I tried to hold the hoof between my knees. Used to bother me when I started several years ago. Not something that I noticed anymore these days. Tapping the shoe in place with a few tacks I finally let the animal’s hoof down and dusted my hands off on the apron. “That’ll be 2 pence.”
The stranger stared at me for a few seconds. Reluctantly he handed me the two silver coins and then mounted his horse and rode off. Taking the money inside, I placed it on the counter for the master of the smithy.
It had been a long and monotonous day. After a quiet meal I went to my quarters. Staring at the old thatched roof I traced with my eyes the patterns that made up a face of an old woman and then the house. Then reality started to sink in. I had been tracing out images of the inside of the roof for nearly a decade now. Childish…I needed to leave those things behind.
Gradually my mind started to wander and the crackle of the fire slowly melded into my dreams. There it was again. I was having the dreams. Screams from the edge of the village sounded and they grew louder and louder. Groggily I turned over in my bed and tried to change the direction of the screams. People weren’t coming toward the smithy they were running away into the woods. It wasn’t changing though. Sometimes a particularly nasty dream like that had to be corrected several times before it would actually bend to my will. This time I realized there was a cold breeze accompanied with the screams. Sitting up in the bed I saw the door was open to the smithy and suddenly it struck me. The screams were real. Even if I could change my dreams there was no changing reality. Had it not been for the dreams I might have raced out of the building but I knew better. Somehow my gut instinct told me that my dreams were for a reason.
Grabbing an awkward and unfinished sword I sank into the shadows of the smithy. It was folly to rush into the streets right now. Best I could do was take the nearest weapon and wait for my chance to sneak toward the edge of town. If it was a clear night I would have to crawl on my stomach. The moonlight would make me an easy target otherwise.
(I like to play around with short stories. If you want to see more say so. Otherwise I will not be posting anymore parts of it. Probably will finish it for myself though. Lol. Pretty much my own best audience. Only write what interests me and nobody else has to like it. Just my way of getting little stories and imaginings out of my mind.)
Suppose that dreams are important. What if they tell you something about yourself or others? It’s normal to dream and most of us think nothing of it. The only difference is that I can change my dreams. In my heart I knew how it was going to end but I could wake myself and change it. Some say that a person like that is powerful. Really I knew better. Dreams are a vivid part of the sleeping consciousness. My imagination was always active so it was easy to write it all off.
Even if I never talked about my dreams they stayed with me. There was a certain darkness to them that I couldn’t forget. At times I was capable of things I never thought that I could do and then I was ashamed of my actions at other points. Honestly nobody was going to invade my homeland. Not here, not in my little country. I pushed all the dreams into the back of my mind. So what if I could change my dreams and cheat the imaginary fate? All this scenarios in my head were completely useless. If I told anyone they would think that I’m crazy. Sometimes I still look out the back of the smithy just to be sure that the hills are still there. Over the hills and into the woods. That is the refuge for a time. Ultimately it fails in the end but I’ve never dreamed past the invaders finding me. How I escape was never determined.
My least favorite of the dreams is the earliest one. I grew up just like it was anticipated and I had to move to the inner part of the village to work at the smithy. That was expected. Just a matter of life. That I could say was perhaps the boring and grounded side of me. It is exactly what happened. I grew up and here I am working in the middle of the village at the smithy and finishing my apprenticeship.
Sparks flew each time I hit the horse shoe. Strangers had come into the town and needed a new shoe for the animal. Must have thrown one when it was coming over the hills. After I finished with the shoe I stepped out to the stall to put it on the horse’s hoof. The well stained thick leather apron bent at a funny angle when I tried to hold the hoof between my knees. Used to bother me when I started several years ago. Not something that I noticed anymore these days. Tapping the shoe in place with a few tacks I finally let the animal’s hoof down and dusted my hands off on the apron. “That’ll be 2 pence.”
The stranger stared at me for a few seconds. Reluctantly he handed me the two silver coins and then mounted his horse and rode off. Taking the money inside, I placed it on the counter for the master of the smithy.
It had been a long and monotonous day. After a quiet meal I went to my quarters. Staring at the old thatched roof I traced with my eyes the patterns that made up a face of an old woman and then the house. Then reality started to sink in. I had been tracing out images of the inside of the roof for nearly a decade now. Childish…I needed to leave those things behind.
Gradually my mind started to wander and the crackle of the fire slowly melded into my dreams. There it was again. I was having the dreams. Screams from the edge of the village sounded and they grew louder and louder. Groggily I turned over in my bed and tried to change the direction of the screams. People weren’t coming toward the smithy they were running away into the woods. It wasn’t changing though. Sometimes a particularly nasty dream like that had to be corrected several times before it would actually bend to my will. This time I realized there was a cold breeze accompanied with the screams. Sitting up in the bed I saw the door was open to the smithy and suddenly it struck me. The screams were real. Even if I could change my dreams there was no changing reality. Had it not been for the dreams I might have raced out of the building but I knew better. Somehow my gut instinct told me that my dreams were for a reason.
Grabbing an awkward and unfinished sword I sank into the shadows of the smithy. It was folly to rush into the streets right now. Best I could do was take the nearest weapon and wait for my chance to sneak toward the edge of town. If it was a clear night I would have to crawl on my stomach. The moonlight would make me an easy target otherwise.
(I like to play around with short stories. If you want to see more say so. Otherwise I will not be posting anymore parts of it. Probably will finish it for myself though. Lol. Pretty much my own best audience. Only write what interests me and nobody else has to like it. Just my way of getting little stories and imaginings out of my mind.)
