Everything was fuzzy, the music played sounded like a melancholoy circus, the people walking around, everyone’s intentions.
I only knew a few people I’d seen around once before, but the others were complete strangers. I looked at them and they’re heads were hung low. Some of them shook their heads, others just stared at the insignificant portions of their desk.
The only one I thought I knew the most was my Professor.
But something would stop her once in a while, a solemn look, she’d mutter something.
A man that felt familiar, walked up next to her and placed his hand on her shoulder.
He whispered something in her ear. She smiled, not looking at him, but it was certainly for him.
He looked over at me and nodded.
I walked up to her and hugged her.
“Let me take part of the pain away.” I said.
“It’s not your pain to hold,” she said.
“What about the others?”
“Help them with their pain. Don’t hold it, don’t ever hold it. Help them let it pass.”
He was dead, I had found out only seconds ago.
I lost him…forever. Would never get him back.
Work, if I swamped myself in work, then I’ll have more dedication for that. Then I can move on a lot quicker than most.
I was trying to write, but every word would be misspelled or manipulated to mush.
I wanted to write, damn it. Nothing had ever stopped me before.
Except for his name. Alexander. Alexander. Alexander.
I shook my head rapidly. I must push on. I must keep going.
I turned myself out of bed, but my feet had a hard time finding the ground.
My toe grazed the carpeted floor, then I let my foot take in the carpeted floor.
“Mom? Mom, are you here?” I called. I placed my other foot on the ground. Please, walk. My feet led me to my bedroom door. I cracked the door open.
“Mom, please. I need you.” Footsteps padded closer. She greeted me with one of her broad smiles, then she looked me up and down.
She was about to say something, but instead opened her arms and embraced me.
I didn’t cry, I didn’t pay attention to anything, just her hug.
Had a dream of a mother who had two sons who didn’t look like her. There was separation. One son betrayed his mother and brother then he died. The other reunited after a long struggle with the mother. They mourned the loss of the son as though he had not betrayed them.
Prayer at Dusk, Hermann David Salomon Corrodi. Italin (1844 - 1905)
I don’t normally think of Zombies and I don’t have a sister in real life, but hey, that happens when you’re dreaming.
Last night I dreamt my sister, Jessi, and I were running away from Zombies. At that point we had travelled across the country to see if our parents had made it out alive in the Zombie Apocalypse, not having met anyone along the way. When we made it to our two story house, things didn’t seem out of the ordinary.
Until we heard cries for help. Not just any cry though, a child’s cry.
Upon hearing the first cry, I almost leapt out the window to help, but my sister held me back.
We saw a thirty something year old man approaching the child and he held her for a moment. After a few seconds, she ripped his throat out with her teeth.
We knew we would need a code word for help, but knowing it would still sound urgent to each others ears.
We decided calling out “Fire” was just as simple and disparaging as help.
Jessi and I slept in the same bed and padlocked every door in the house to confuse the Zombies. It was too generic to think that these Zombies weren mindless drones who only wanted brains. All predators really have to do is out smart their prey. They learned quickly that cries for help were a lot more effective than just screaming “Brains” at the top of their lungs.
Sophie and the Moon - Lisa Evans