Dream

Under most circumstances, when I wake up in the middle of the night and scribble out parts of a dream that I want to remember, I read over them in the morning and wonder to myself "what in the world is this?" This may be partially because my handwriting in the dark isn't all that great. In this particular case, I don't think the dream would make a very good book, but it might have some concepts that could be recycled for other purposes. That's what dreams are for, right?
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She could feel the ridges under her fingers, even after the goosebumps started to fade. It had been scary enough, seeing the Thing they had called on to guide them for their festival. It had only been right to interrupt and send it away. None of them had agreed. It was only Callo's intervention that had saved her from being trampled by the mob.


Slowly, she lowered her gaze to her arms, knowing what she would see, and wishing she could make it go away. Tattoos. Lines of bluish ink, still tender and fresh, only a few days old. From shoulder to wrist (if there were more on her back, she might cry) her skin was covered in fine script and shaded illustrations, all from a book she'd only ever seen once. The largest letters were on her right wrist, just below the heel of her palm.

We Rebel With LOVE Today

To take on Weakness as our Defense

and Surrender the Immortal Life

that gave us the Appearance of Perfection.

Even as she read the words, it made no sense to her. How could anyone rebel with love? How was weakness a defense? And why, for the love of all things good, would anyone give up immortality? But she knew, somehow, in the deepest part of her gut, that these words were hers. The immortal life that had been surrendered was hers. And the mission to protect the people that hated her for sending away the demons they summoned - that was hers, too.

All too clearly, the memory came to her of the woman dancing with her ribbons, skirts flying, shoes striking sparks against the flinty cobbles. The heat of the fire, the babble of the crowd, the frantic music... the glow as her face began to transform, taking on the power and appearance of something not human.

She pressed her palms over her eyes and took a shuddering breath. Demons. Why did it have to be demons? And why tattoos? Couldn't someone have just handed her a book? It would have been better. The cool darkness of her hands couldn't completely block out the sight of the words on her arm. The word "love" ached a little, and looked red, inflamed on her wrist like the artist had tried to give the impression of a brand. She didn't remember it being red before the festival.

"Come, little one." Callo was standing over her. She lowered her hands and looked up at him. He had skin like jade, smooth and cool to the touch, and no hair at all. Her mind said "alien" and her memory said "centaur." He looked like neither, though his lower half did have four legs, instead of two. With a sigh, she stood and rubbed her arms again. If he saw the marks that hadn't been there in the yesterday she remembered, Callo said nothing about it.

"You are needed," he told her quietly. "I know you will succeed. You are a messenger of Zeus."

"No." The rejection came promptly, and from the same deep place where she'd known the words on her arm were her own. "Not Zeus. The gods are only demons in disguise, and I don't come from them."

Then where did I come from?

I don't know.