I Am Here But I Must Be Dreaming

I am here but I'm dreaming 06

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Odd, there’s no one usually here, not inside. OK, as a silhouette the castle looks impressive from a distance and draws people to it. But not for long, not when they see it’s made of crumbling bricks and broken concrete exposing steel reinforcement like rusty twisted rib cages.

Fake: a folly of huge proportions. It must have been expensive and glamorous once but, in glorious retrospect, doomed to disaster.

Today my dogs don’t want to go near the ruin, probably due to the unusual sound coming from it. Half music, half wind – as if it’s howling through skulls – does not make for a pleasant experience.

The person inside is a woman. Stark naked, she’s darting over the rubble and seemingly unaware that it’s midwinter. Even the original frost crystals sport new sparkling layers this morning. The strange noises move with her as if she’s making them.

I’m wearing Wellingtons, thick tights and two layers of fleece under my padded jacket. The wind comes in bitter gusts.

She moves past a wrecked doorway, her head showing over the collapsed lintel. The sounds stop and she appears at a window, standing on the sill. High up, there are no floors left inside; there’s no earthly way she could have … now she’s jumped down facing me. My dogs flee and bark from the edge of the field. I can’t see why; she doesn’t seem threatening in posture, just inhuman and weird in the way she sounds and … jumps. Frost glitters on the ground as she approaches.

She stops in front of me. A gust of wind whips my dog leads into a tangle – her hair doesn’t even move. “Welcome,” she says, pauses and, after what looks like a moment’s concentration, smiles.

Welcome,” she repeats.

Not knowing how to respond I remain silent. I am also stupefied; now she’s this close I can see a visual distortion around her, light bent as in the surface tension of water in a glass.

Asking, “You believe this to be your … area?” she pirouettes, her gesture sweeping the horizon in all directions. “We won’t stay here until you no longer need it. I know you may become emotionally distressed due to your concepts of possession and territory. I’ve made a study of you … your species. I came early to see for myself everything that unfolds.”

I think I must be dreaming, but my dreams have never been anything like this.

She says, “I believe linking arms is considered a friendly gesture by you at this time. We can walk and converse. You will have the sensation of physical contact with me.”

With a yelp my dogs give up and race home. The woman takes my arm and stands beside me. “You may find it difficult to converse at first, as I will. Translation and culture, we need to cope with them – and be patient with each other.” She steps forward and tugs me. “You need to move your legs too if we are to walk together.”

It’s very difficult to feel threatened by someone when walking arm-in-arm, even if you are headed for a cliff … and in this wind I’m a little worried about the plunge into the sea far below.

She asks, “You have a name? You can tell me and I will use it when addressing you. Would you like me to have a name too? You can choose one if you like.”

I steer us away from the precipice and we stroll along the clifftop footpath. Certain that I have a right to questions too, I ask, “Who are you and where are you from?”

The woman glances at me. Rigid grass hisses and ice crackles under my feet – not hers. She leaves no footprints.

She stops walking, lost in concentration for several seconds. “I am beginning to understand.” She pauses again, for longer this time. “Be patient … with us … me. Conversing with you, in voices like this, takes a lot of reflection and thinking. We do not know how to answer those questions but can attempt to guess the information you are seeking.” I respond in kind when she starts walking again. She continues, “I like this area … planet … and will stay when you no longer require it. I come from so many places it is impossible for me to reply to your query in any way that would make sense to you. I think what you need to know is that we are waiting until you leave. Then we come.”

You are an alien?”

Wait… Ah, I see … in a sense yes … but the whole answer, and your understanding of it, would require many changes to the ways you think and perceive.”

What do you mean by ‘until you leave’?”

All of you. Extinct. I have come to watch.”

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©Gary Bonn, 2017

 

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