VI SWORDS

Knowledge can be a good thing. One only has to find the answer to their question. Renew the dawn and cross the boundary to reveal clarity on your journey.

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— Ray —

His voice stood out. Not in a pain-filled way, but a serene melody. He spoke in a different tongue, connecting with me somehow—an impression, penetrating me.

Drip!

A clear dripping echoed from a leaking faucet or a broken pipe, perhaps. No light to be seen, swallowed in darkness. Something ghastly stifled my breath. Covering my nose, I noticed a hint of copper in the dampness. My curls drooped in regress. I warmed my arms over my gooseflesh. Narrowing my stare, a question of déjà vu posed into me. Have I been here before? I walked further and touched sturdy, stone-cold walls, almost metallic-like—its edges connected to other sides, shaping it into a box. Stretching my legs, I measured the room—a box, approximately two by two meters on all sides. My feet made no sound. Why was that? I was beginning to wonder where this was and if I was dreaming. It had to be a dream. I mean, come on, this can't be real. Stomping and clapping didn't echo, yet this place was solid, crisp, and wrong. Who put me in a cage? If this was a dream, then it’s meant to end. I pinched myself, thinking of those horror movies I watched when I was ten. Shutting my eyes, the shapes of my bed, my room usually helped me find my balance.

I opened them, and an incandescent light streamed in front. It appeared to swing sideways and led through a bleak passage, sheltering its cascades.

"Aren't you going?" A soft-spoken yet sultry voice whispered across my ear.

"Do I have a choice?" It was more of a fact than a question to myself.

I waited for the voice to answer back a maybe, or sure, go ahead. Only to realize I fell for its trap, willingly. I sighed to myself, stiffening my resolve as the tunnel's length became clearer, yet I couldn't see my hands—a chilling air pressured through this path. My feet moved mechanically without my bidding. I wanted to stop heading where my feet were taking me and break out of this place. Looking behind my back, I found another wall entrapping me inside this tunnel. The distinctive box had disappeared. My throbbing heart broke faster. Courage wasn't something I mustered from nothing—it derailed me, controlled me, and pained me to find it. I breathed in and out. A funnel, squeezing through my ribcage, haggling my breathing. I'm lost. I tapped, fanned my fingers against the walls, and counted the length of my dream. Could this be my subconscious, and I'm getting sucked and stuck in another? I'd trip at the end and wake up feeling it last for days, maybe even weeks or years, yet drifting into sleep right now. My many fears were never waking from it. Dreams had a way of feeding off from your fear.

Pinpricks penetrated the soles of my feet, numbing my toes. Succumbed and driven down this endless tunnel, an overwhelming strength thrust upon me—I craved on towards the source of light, even if it led to nowhere, I'll keep holding on a little longer. You will reach it. A taste of bitterness pushed me further. If I wanted to wake up, getting to the light was the answer. The chilling air stifled my breath, walls kept warping towards me: dripping shuddered, rushed, collapsed everywhere.

"Almost there!" I shuddered, unaware of the wall behind me getting closer in.

"Come on! Faster, that's it! Yes!" My lips lifted as my eyes gleamed up wide.

I didn't care about where I was. All I wanted was to get up from my bed, see the sunrise peering my windows, breathe the morning dew. The light swayed, shimmered into a round glow. It's splendor—a pendulum of hope, waiting for me. My fingers itched, and my hands reached to touch it. The light stretched up into a half-shadowed head, connected by a firm neckline, supple arms, regal chest, and robust legs. I sucked in a chilling breath, backed up, and tripped over my feet.

"Who are you?" I voiced my thoughts.

The man blinked, tilting his head, gasped. My arms shivered. A look meant to see right through me. His pale brown lips widened. I stepped back, shuddering at what he might do and say. A shadow covered more than half his face. He was half a head taller than me, and coming from his undulating, sculpted muscles—he could grapple my subtle muscle mass into putty. I should have let Michael's dad give me defense training. At least I won't die in my dream, thinking I let my wild imagination kill me! I eyed for a getaway and gasped—a cold, hard wall pressed onto my back. Trickling drops fell down my brow to my neck, soaking my back. I fisted my hands on the wall and closed my eyes. Facing to my side, I repeated to myself, it's just a dream, and I was going to wake up.

Long, slender, warm fingers combed into my curls. Oh my god! What the hell! I shivered, turning into a shaken stone statue. Rustling sounds came from in front of me, and I don't know where I mustered up the courage to look through one eye. I saw the man kneeling on the floor, palms up to his sides. He gaped up at me, seeming to beg. No sound came from his moving lips, and streaks glistened down from his not visible cheeks. A growing sadness loomed into his golden pupils. I raised my hand to my curls, and I could still feel the warmth from his fingertips. In my madness, I kneeled, facing him.

Do I know you?

Something within my soul mended into place. The man moved his arms, holding onto something not there.

Tick-tock!

The stroke of a clock pierced, my vision tunneled and faded. I wanted to pull myself, trace the man's chiseled jawline into my memory, and ask what his name was—anything to understand why my mind and soul needed to know.

Beep-beep-beep!

Inhaling, I saw my ceiling, the door to my bedroom, and the sun shining down my tile floor. It was only a dream—I told myself—it was only a dream. Shuddering, and blocking my quivering gasps—I had hoped.