Jessa (wintershadows) wrote in lucid_remnants,

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"What Dreams May Come"

(Sorry for the hijacked title, I'm not very original these days...)
Due to the incessant annoyance of my kitten throughout the first few hours of my sleep, I don't recall much of the origins of this particular dream...
At any rate, I don't remember the sequence of events either, just bits and pieces...
In fact, all I remember is the last racing seconds/minutes.
I had stolen this tiny black artifact from the throat of a [sleeping or dead?] soldier; I guess... it might actually have been from the dragon himself, that part's hazy. I turned the object over in the palm of my hands; it resembled nothing I've ever seen before, just two bits of black, hard plastic (hardly appropriate for the times), one slightly larger than the other, with stiff silver wiring... intended to offer immunity to fire.
I remember being amongst green hills as far as the eye could see, but it didn't make sense... the dream (or the dragon) was dark and sinister, however the scenery was brighter than day... an ethereal glow almost.
Well, apparently I had roasted our friend dragon here, for he was out with a vengeance on me... And, about the dragon? you ask... this dragon is not your typical single-minded being... more than single-minded in that he had a profuse amount of heads to account for. Not to mention, dragons are usually the ones doing to burning... I found that I was creating history by depleting our friend's head count and, for an instant, thought of Hercules.
Then we were in my room, the dragon's snide form immobilized on my bed; odd how my cramped room contained such a monstrous beast and yet seemed spacious all at once... the dragon still had that looming effect over me, but my room was the same size as ever, if smaller even... I could skirt around him in a matter of strides and yet his frame was at least ten times that of mine. His various appendages were scorched beyond recognition, only 2 heads remained in tact... the predominant one leered and taunted me in English, his whole stature had almost a humanly appeal; man... but not man. Nor was he any color I'd ever seen upon a dragon... though the explanation for that is such: a coded map of sorts sat at my bedside table, of which projected coded colors onto us... I've no idea the symbolic meaning behind them as I don't recall ever reading over the map key... but I remember seeing lots of yellow and purple... particularly [yellow] on his protruding neck and head spouting jeers at me and the [purple] matches I clutched within my fingers (3 to be exact).
There were papier mache figurines scattered across the left wall of my room that were obviously important because I had snatched them up and raced out my door to toss them over the balcony at my father... I gather they were pieces of history, records of sorts... one looked rather like a pope, about the size of my head, with a large staff and creamy ceremonial dress with a series of 3 circles settled in the center of the belly of his robes...
All the while I threatened the dragon with striking the matches and burning him alive... The relic I'd retrieved was meant to spare me from the flames... but he didn't know that and had effectively made me forget this detail for my own fear dictated what was left of the dream... my body swam in it and I knew that I would have to burn my room to the ground in order to be sure the dragon was slain. I would have to burn everything in it... I would char my own existence from the books... everything that was me, everything I ever wrote/created/owned would go up in the [cleansing] flames... and I would go with it...
As I awoke, my hands were striking the matches... only then, in the clarity of consciousness, did I realize I wouldn't have burned... because I still had that piece on my person... right?
Or did I?
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