Dark and Magical World
I think these are really interesting images and I think each suggests a story. So, I decided to take the first picture and try to tell its story. There are plenty others, I’d love to see what stories you guys come up with for these!
They came to her; the little dark dreams of others that were summoned up at twilight. The Shade could feed upon the happy dreams, but they did not taste as good. And it felt like she was robbing the Dreamers. But when it was these little treasures, no one begrudged her the theft. When they woke and recalled only a sense of unease, they did not regret that the images did not follow.
Each little insect came as a sampling of fear. There are those that were mere anxieties or vague distasteful imagines, but they all reflected that dark place in the human soul. A place where the travelers normally avoided. The Shade could not help but wonder why. Was it not these dark places that remind us of the light? Was it not these places that urged us to move forward?
A single insect landed upon her brow and departed just as quickly as it had come. Its message was short, but no less powerful. A simple image of a mother clutching her dead child. There was nothing worse then the death of a child. The Shade wondered if this was a haunting memory or was a fear for the child’s future. All of us die and all parents know that their children are not exempt from this.
She followed the wind the insect had ridden to reach her. The house was dark and the curtains drawn. Moving up to a window, she flicked her fingers and the curtain moved aside to reveal the Dreamer. The shadows made the female form more beautiful. It caressed her curves and accented the paleness of her skin. Sweat gleamed on her flesh. At the bed side was an empty crib.
So it was a memory then.
The Shade stepped through the wall and stood next to the Dreamer. The rise and fall of the Dreamer’s chest was uneven and labored. The dreams plagued her still, even though the insect had drawn the worst of it from her. The Shade reached down and stroked the Dreamer’s brow. Pale blue eyes flicked open and the Dreamer screamed. Scuttling away from her across the bed, the Dreamer threw her hands up to ward off an attack that was not coming.
After a long pause, the Dreamer asked “who are you?” The Dreamer pushed her damp hair from her face, then asked “why are you here?”
“I am a nightmare collector. I have seen your dreams. I come with the offering of a bargain,” the Shade whispered.
“What do you want?” the Dreamer asked.
“I want your dreams. I want your suffering,” the Shade whispered. “But this comes with a price.”
The Dreamer said nothing, but the Shade could see the desire in the Dreamer’s eyes. There was a longing for this pain to dissolve away.
“You must forget. For remembering will call upon the nightmares and they will leave me to return to you,” the Shade said.
“Forget? Forget what?” the Dreamer asked.
“Every thing. You can move on with your life in peace, but you must do so without knowing that you had ever been a mother.”
The Dreamer placed a cold hand on the crib next to her. She could still feel the awkward kisses her small toddler had given her and the tiny hand that had clutched hers.
“No,” the Dreamer whispered. “There are things worth suffering to remember.”