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Dreams and Memories Ep 3

Updated: Mar 29, 2023

Since I was young, I've always had very vivid dreams. Most of them were about wars in other, unknown worlds. Worlds I wasn't just seeing, but feeling and living in. Other dreams seemed more prophetic in nature. Detailed stories that somehow foretold future happenings, which would affect me or those around me. But I would not understand this until very, very far into the future. For only in looking toward the future, do we really come to understand the past.


Throughout this blog, I’ll recount some of these dreams and strange phenomena. After all, this is a place for my life story, and the dreams played their part. So much so that perhaps I became frightened and yet beguiled by them.


The first memory I have of some otherworldly happenings would be from my childhood. The first meeting of one of those I would come to call the Shadow Men.

Shadow Men

That is when I met the first of many shadow men. I called them that, for they were always just out of my visual frame, yet solid enough to be seen. I felt their presence in quiet moments, lurking in corners, taller than the door frame of my room, thinner than normal people, with no real face or perceivable eyes - yet somehow still capable of staring at me. Perhaps it was the childlike wonder in me that made me question if I should really be afraid of such beings or not. That wonder led me to choose that no, I wasn’t going to be afraid. After all, they had never hurt me, and it was all too easy to simply ignore them.


My childhood memories are vague at best. Like I’ve told you, dear friend, my memory doesn’t seem to work as others do. For me, some memories are little more than snippets, flashes of feeling, as though someone pulled the film from a cassette tape of my life and cut it into pieces.


Growing up, I remember great silence and loneliness. I have thirteen albums full of pictures from my childhood, yet can remember very little of it myself. In those photos, I see a smiling toddler in fancy clothes digging her fingers into the potting soil of a house plant. My mother told me she was forever scolding me, but I remember none of it.


There are hundreds of pictures of me traveling with my parents to different states. Us at Disney World, Disneyland, Niagara, Hawaii. Us on cruises, on beaches. So many trips, yet I have no real memory of any of it beyond the pictures.


My mother always joked about how I remembered nothing about these trips, except for the animals. I've always had a fascination for all living creatures around me. How could I not?


When every type of bird flocks down to you as you feed them. Doesn't that invoke a type of serenity within? When deer come strolling out in the sunset of the forest where we were camped and listened intently as I played my violin, how could I not see them and this scene as magical? They gave me peace, spiritually. A place I could hide from the few memories I did have, a place the darkness couldn’t reach me.

dancingbirdscene

I do remember our first animal though. A Labrador puppy. I don’t remember the feeling of when we got him, but I do remember losing him. It was late at night, my father had come home very drunk. The night had a dark feel to it, as though something terrible was destined to happen.


I hid, weeping, beneath a glass shelf full of expensive Japanese china. My parents’ voices turned from just heated, to pure venom. That venom spewed from their lips, burning through the house. I rammed my eyes closed but couldn’t escape the clashes of dishware and smashing of glasses.

broken china scene

I cried and begged to make it stop, and as I looked up, what I saw then is the memory that was seared into my brain. My mother, hunched over as hot soup poured down her battered face, with the bowl on top of her head. I’d never seen her face look like that. Her eyes were dead and vacant, in a body that no longer wanted to live.


I couldn't breathe as my father walked away and into the garage. I don't remember how the poor sweet dog ended up there in the first place.

dogscene

All I remember was the yelps he made while my father beat him. Then silence. More silence.


That was my last memory of my dog.


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