Awake

“I had the dream again.”

“Tell me about it, Cerise.” He presses, leaning forward just a bit. Giving me his full attention. He’s always been a great listener. Though I suppose it is his job.

“I’ve already told you.” I murmur. My voice quiet. I don’t relish the idea of repeating it.

“Tell me again.”

“From the beginning?”

“Yes.” He nods, his blue eyes visible through the thick lenses of his glasses.

“It started with the field. The moon was high, and the freshly fallen snow seemed to glow beneath it. I was walking through it, and I- I could feel the cold beneath my feet, biting at my skin. How is it possible to feel something so real when it is just a dream?” I ask, looking down at my clasped hands.

“Scientists have found that the parts of our brain responsible for real sensory information is active when we sleep.” He informs, matter of fact.

“Oh.” I whisper. He doesn’t speak for a while, and so I look up at him. He’s waiting for me to continue, and so I do.

“It’s not just feeling, you know? I could smell the pine trees surrounding the field. I could hear the rusting of the wind through the branches. I could hear nearly everything, except him.”

“Tell me about him.” He prods.

“He’s-“ I ponder the question. There are so many words to describe the man in my dreams. If he even is a man. “Beautiful, and tragic. He can’t see me, but I see him. Every night I see him. He stands there, in the middle of the clearing, his head tilted back as he watches the sky. I don’t know what he’s looking at, or for, but he comes night after night.”

“Have you tried to speak to him?”

“You know that I have.” I frown, meeting his gaze.

“Humor me.” He says, giving me a soft smile.

“I have tried, but he doesn’t hear me. He doesn’t see me.”

“Can you touch him?”

“I did once.” I nod, and my fingers grip the hem of my sweater, rubbing over the stitches.

“And what happened, Cerise?” He asks, jotting something down in his notebook.

“I took his face in my hands, I tried to force him to see me.” I can feel a chill spread down my spine.

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t think he could see at all.” I whisper. “His eyes were dripping blood.”