The Atjal [8/20/19]

Date: 8/20/2019

In this dream, I was part of a resistance army against an evil monarchy. Think Scarlet Guard, if you’ve ever read Red Queen. We were called the Atjal, for whatever reason. I know there was a full story to this dream, but I can’t remember it. Really, I can’t remember almost anything from it, only three events for sure. I apologize if it’s confusing, this is a dream that makes a lot more sense in my head. One was a memory, but not “mine”. I saw a group of people, huddling together in front of a fire. They were in a small cave or dig-out, and outside rain poured down through the night. Then one, a woman with golden blonde hair, puzzled at something. There was a string of sorts next to her, trailing away to where she could not see. She flicked at it, and before she could even get her next thought in, it exploded. A burst of red, yellow and white flames in a billowing hot cloud. They were all gone. Then, I seemed to be seeing the world from my little sister’s eyes. I don’t have a sister in real life. She was walking hand in hand with our “mother” (who was not my real mother). She - we? - was scared. It was night again, with only the golden glow of looming streemlights to illuminate the path. She was convinced - actually, she was sure the monarchy had rigged explosives to our house. I don’t know why, but our mother kept walking. My little sister stopped, now desperate. She begged. “There is another way. Please. We can leave. You are not trapped in this world! Don’t do this...” And in the shadowed ambience, our mother listened. She listened, even as the world burned in her mind, burned and left her with only one option. So, once again, she took my little sister by the hand and walked the short distance home. They stepped up the porch steps, and my sister started to cry a little. Just like in the cave, the world was set afire. And I was left with the ashes. Last memorable scene. I (yes, it’s finally my perspective) was sitting in a small office. A large window filled the room with a soft, hazy light. I had a cork board with pictures pinned, filling it all. I sat before a mahogany desk, with a stack of paper beside me. I reached up, pulling down the picture of my late mother. I planned to write letters to every single person I knew who had died. I planned to tell them everything I could not in life. As I picked up a pen, the dream ended. ——— Sorry it’s kind of confusing, also, I don’t know why my dreams are always so dark o__o and they’re always so strange. Like I never have just a normal dream about getting coffee or something, instead it’s a deadly war and everyone’s dying