Bend the nightmare

I had another dream about Hawthorne. He was sitting at the riverside when I showed up, his back turned to me. As I approached, he smiled up at me.

"Hello, Tia," he said.
"Hey, Hawthorne," I said as I sat down next to him.

It was night, just like the first time I'd come there a few days earlier. Again, the moonlight made it just bright enough to see.

"You know," I said, "I'm kind of curious... is it night here because it's night in the real world?"
Hawthorne shook his head. "No, it is always night here. As a matter of fact, it's around seven o'clock in your world. The 'real world,' as you call it."
I groaned. "Great. I only meant to sleep for an hour."
Hawthorne shrugged. "I could wake you if you wanted."
"No, I think I'd be okay spending a while here. It's not like I've got anything better going on in real life."
Hawthorne laughed. "Very well," he said, nodding. "Now..." He shifted uncomfortably. "I suppose I should tell you something. This place, the River, is my domain. It is the world I share with my kin." He adjusted his tie. "I do not know what the Eye's domain is like, nor do I know if I would be able to go there were the Eye to take you."
"So if the eye monster got me, you'd be stuck here."

Hawthorne pursed his lips. Finally, he went on, "Well, yes, to oversimplify somewhat. What this means is that we cannot risk allowing the Eye to learn whatever secret is drawing it to you."

I was starting to say something, I forget what, when Hawthorne stood up and waded across the creek. When he reached the other side, he motioned for me to do the same, so I shrugged and walked across. As I neared him, he took my hand and pulled me the rest of the way across.

After we had both forded the creek, Hawthorne turned to me again and said. "Tia... I need to be clear with you."
"You wrote that poem the other week?"
"What?" Hawthorne asked, blinking. "Well, I did, but that is wholly beside the point. No, what I was about to say was that no real danger can befall you here, as you have only entered this world through dreaming. However, the thing I am about to show you may be..." He grimaced. "Upsetting. If you do not wish to proceed, we may certainly return to my own tributary."
I stared at him. "Why didn't you tell me this before I got my feet soaking wet, exactly?"
Hawthorne shrugged. "Absentmindedness."
I sighed. "Well, it's just a dream. I've had nightmares before, and hey, at least I can control this one."
"Right. Just a dream," Hawthorne said, smiling uncomfortably. He cleared his throat. "Now, on to the next tributary. It is time for us to meet the Parasite."

He said nothing more as we walked across the murky black creek with its rotting stones that separated us from whatever this Parasite was. I didn't have the heart to prompt him.

After we had crossed, a low growl came from the right. It sounded hateful and inhuman. Hawthorne turned to the source of the sound, and although I was all but paralyzed, I slowly did the same.

It was me. She had fresh blood around her mouth and dried blood on her hands, a feral expression and torn clothing, but it was me.

She stared at me for a long time with those hungry eyes of hers. Then, suddenly, she laughed. It was a surprising noise to hear coming from her, even though it was still far from comforting. "Tia Bravo Fuertes," she said. "Tia the brave and strong. Are you truly so foolhardy to cross me?"

As I stared at the Parasite, I saw flashes of imagery. It was... honestly really disturbing. I saw myself performing countless acts of violence until I was just as bloody and bestial as the Parasite- until we were one and the same.

I reeled back. Hawthorne took me by the shoulder and held me steady.

The Parasite laughed. "You always were soft, Hawthorne." Her amused expression remained as she stalked forward and grabbed Hawthorne by the throat. "Why did you come here?"
Hawthorne turned to face me and nodded weakly.
The Parasite squinted at me. "Interesting," she said after a few moments. She dropped Hawthorne, leaving me to catch him. "So you came here for her sake. And why was that, exactly? You wanted to leave her with thoughts of her murdering her family one by one?" Her lips curled back in a ghastly approximation of a smile. "Because if so, well, you've gotten much more interesting than I realized."

I turned to Hawthorne, not saying anything but hoping my expression would convey the question I had for him- namely, "what the hell is this weirdo talking about?"
Hawthorne nodded at me, his eyes wide, which I took to mean "I'm terrified too, but I know slightly more about this situation than you and I can explain later."

Hawthorne turned back to the Parasite, who had been watching our brief exchange of glances with amusement. "Far from it, Parasite. Actually, I thought you might be able to help us with a problem we've been having."

The Parasite tilted her head, the air of detached amusement she'd had this entire time suddenly replaced with genuine confusion. "Why..." She stared at me, as though I had any idea what Hawthorne was thinking. Finally, she turned to Hawthorne once more. "Why would you think that?"
"Well, um, you see... Tia's being pursued by the Eye."
The Parasite glanced around paranoically, as though the eyes would suddenly appear in the sky like they had in the dream a few days prior. "Well, I'm a part of you just as much as he is," she said, jabbing a finger at me as she spoke. "That's why I'm taking on your form. It's traditional for us to take on our hosts' appearances. Of course, Hawthorne here is a sentimental sort, so he's sticking with his Quentin pal." She cleared her throat. "Point is, if you think the Eye is after me... or that it's after you because of me in some indirect way..." Her face contorted into one of her now-usual grins. "Well, you might just be onto something."
Hawthorne nodded. "Thank you."
The Parasite nodded in turn. "Now, I will require some sort of payment for my services. We don't have to figure anything out just yet, but... well, just think about it." She patted me on the head and walked away, vanishing into the night.

Hawthorne and I walked back to his creek in silence. When we finished crossing the second creek, I finally asked, "Hawthorne... she said I was her host, right?"
Hawthorne nodded gravely. "Unfortunately, yes, you are. I felt I had to inform you, but... well, the Parasite can be an unnerving individual, and it was difficult to properly explain."
"You can say that again," I said as I sat down, took off my wet shoes, and set them beside me.
Hawthorne sat down beside me. "It is uncommon for two Dying Man shards to share a host. Most cases of the sort end in one absorbing the other. However, for all her talk, the Parasite is ultimately just as weak as I am, and would no doubt fail to absorb me if she attempted to do so. In fact, unlike any other shard I have ever met, she cannot control those she possesses, only show them strange and disturbing images. Her hosts usually end up fighting so hard to convince themselves they don't want to act on what they see that they crack under the pressure, one way or another."
I shuddered. "Thanks for that thought, Hawthorne."
He smiled awkwardly and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I am sure you will be able to deal with her in the coming days. You simply need to remember not to take what she shows you personally."
I mulled it over. "Like quicksand, kind of. Harder you struggle, faster you sink."
He nodded.

In spite of what I'd just witnessed, being near Hawthorne made me feel a lot safer. I don't know why. Even in my dreams, I'd only ever met him once before, not counting the poem he'd supposedly written for me. Well, probably it was because he seems pretty nice. ("Seems." Weird way of phrasing it, considering that implies he's real. You get what I mean.)

So I laid down on the soft grass of the riverside and went to sleep just as I woke up in real life.

The River

I had a dream last night, because apparently nothing happens to me in real life anymore, that I was walking home from work when I saw a tall, thin man with eyes all over his body. He wore a white suit, a white shirt, a white tie, white pants, and white shoes. All of it was spotless and unwrinkled, immaculate but otherworldly. He looked like he was made of bones.

There were a thousand eyes staring down at me from the sky. They looked... I don't know, angry or judgmental or something. They certainly didn't look happy.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I saw it belonged to a young man in a black suit and a red tie. He looked terrified.

"The Eye is watching," he said.

"No shit. Who are you?" I replied, backing away.

"There is no need to be rude," he said, frowning. "I am Hawthorne, and you are in danger. Come with me."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, I'll bite. It's just a dream anyways."

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly the two of us were beside a creek.

Hawthorne sat down and motioned for me to join him. I did so.

"Allow me to introduce myself properly," he said. "My name is Hawthorne, as I have mentioned. I am a fragment of a dead god called the Dying Man. We are the enemies of Judgment, the man in the white suit, and of the Eye. The two are... one and the same, in a way."

"...Sorry, what?" I said, scooching away. "You're part of a dead god and you hate some kind of freaky eye monster whose human form is that weirdo we saw?"

He nodded.

"Okay," I said, rolling my eyes, "is that guy a god too?"

He nodded again.

"You're shitting me."

He shook his head.

"Christ. So you're some kind of demon or something and you're enemies with a god with a billion eyes."

He sighed. "Admittedly, I suppose you could call me a demon. But I am not evil. After all, the light can reveal secrets which are hidden for good reasons."

I raised an eyebrow. "Right."

I stood up and paced around. "This whole thing is stupid. What even is this place?"

Hawthorne stood and said, "This is the River, where Dying Man shards like myself live. When the Dying Man was still alive, it was an ocean, but it split apart into tributaries and streams when he broke apart. You see, each of us has our own tributary on the River. I am, admittedly, a relatively minor shard." He gestured at the creek before us, which was fairly small. Someone who wanted to probably could have forded it easily. "Accordingly, my tributary is minor. If I were to absorb another shard, my power would grow and my tributary would absorb theirs."

I stared at him. "You can absorb other shards?"

Hawthorne shrugged awkwardly. "Yes, but I have never done so myself in the twenty-odd years I have been my own individual, apart from the Dying Man as a whole. To absorb another shard would be akin to one human killing another and taking their belongings."

We walked in silence for a few minutes along the riverbank. The creek itself was clear, but there were no fish or plants in the water, just rocks on the bottom. It was fairly dark out, but the moonlight was just bright enough for us to see. It didn't hurt that the sky was clear, just like the creek, with no clouds to be seen.

I'll admit, I stole a few glances at Hawthorne while he was walking ahead of me and wasn't paying attention. He was good-looking, even if nothing he said made a lot of sense.

Speaking of which, Hawthorne said another bizarre thing when I sat down and he decided to join me.

"You see, Tia," Hawthorne said, "the Eye is an embodiment of judgment. It is light incarnate, just as we Dying Man shards are shadow incarnate."

Squinting at Hawthorne, I asked, "And this translates to what exactly?"

"Well..." Hawthorne trailed off, pursing his lips. "I suppose the clearest way in which I could explain this would be to give an example. Some time ago, the Eye was searching for me. That was when I was with the man from whom I took my..." He gestured down at himself. "Well, my current appearance. His name was Quentin Crow."

"...Metal."

Hawthorne tilted his head. "Sorry?"

"Never mind. So, the Eye was looking for you?"

"Indeed. I was its prey; it was only when I controlled Quentin that it could sense my presence and come after the two of us. You see, Dying Man shards are capable of taking control of the humans who act as their hosts, but I myself rarely want to do so. Not only does it interfere with my host's autonomy, but it makes both of us targets for the Eye."

"So... you're saying you possess people?"

Hawthorne nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. You see, I cannot have a body of my own, and just as is true of every other Dying Man shard, I long to regain what I once had when we were whole." He stood up and paced around, kicking loose rocks as he walked. It was kind of endearing, seeing him act so sulky. After a while, he continued, "However, I have seen some of the other shards that exist, and I do not know I would like to create a being that contains them, regardless of how convenient it would be for me to have a form of my own again."

Sighing, Hawthorne leaned down and took a rock from the ground, then skipped it across the creek. It made it all the way across. I've never been any good at skipping rocks, so I have no idea how impressive that was, but Hawthorne had a goofy smile on his face when he turned to face me. "We could always have more conversations in the future. I would not be interrupting anything, am I?"

"No," I said, returning the smile. "You wouldn't." My smile faded as I considered something. "So... you don't have a body, but you can't control anyone else's because you're worried the Eye would come after you?"

"Yes," said Hawthorne, frowning. He scratched his chin. "But then, the Eye was already stalking you. Evidently, you are its prey as well."

"And why's that?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hawthorne pursed his lips. "Most likely, you are keeping some sort of secret which the Eye wants to learn. Could you think of anything to that effect?"

I considered the matter. Thing is, I'm trans, and I live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I moved to Atkins after I'd already transitioned, and I didn't tell anyone here about it.

I mean, my friends Shan and Fiona are in a gay relationship, and everyone here has been accepting of them. I guess they'd probably be okay with me too.

Still, it's just... really draining to come out to people in my experience, even if you know it'll probably be okay.

"I've got one idea," I said after a while.

Hawthorne nodded. "You do not have to tell me if you do not wish to do so. I am sure that, whatever your secret may be, you are right to keep it."

I smiled. "For a demon, you're pretty nice."

"Er... thank you," Hawthorne said. Giving me a small, awkward wave, he said, "Well, goodnight, Tia."

I woke up after that, but I fell asleep again soon after.

The interrogator

I had a dream last night that I was in an interrogation room.

"I see what goes on," the interrogator said. He was dressed in the color of bones. "There's no point in hiding the truth." He sighed. "I just want to help. You want to help, too, right? You're a good person. I've seen that." He stopped pacing to look me in the eye. "Look, if you just tell me what happened, maybe you'll feel better. You wouldn't have done this on purpose, would you?"
"Well, you see..." I began.

I explained everything, and the interrogator listened closely. But he watched even more closely.

"Thank you. I'm glad that you're starting to see my side of things," the interrogator said at last.

The interrogator stood up, and I started to see them.

Eyes. So many eyes. They were all over his face, his body, his hands. They were covering the walls and the floor and the ceiling. They were all staring at me.

It was too late to escape now. I couldn't get out of sight, and certainly not out of mind. I had admitted my crimes. The interrogator saw it all.

The interrogator of a thousand eyes walked over to me and put a hand on my shoulder. "Let's get this over with."

I shuddered at his touch for a moment, feeling all the eyes on me, so many eyes. Then the eye on the interrogator's hand burned me away, and the interrogator's own body along with it.

I have no idea what the crime was that I was supposed to have committed. One way or another, though, I couldn't get back to sleep at all after that.

In the clouds

I dreamed last night that I was floating through the clouds. It was sunrise, so everything was bathed in red and orange and pink.

When I woke up, I just sat in bed for a while, listening to a playlist I'd started last night. God, I love Saturdays.

(I have trouble sleeping a lot of the time, so I've developed a routine for those kinds of nights. I have some melatonin, take a shower, put on some comfy pajamas, and listen to Bob Ross or music until I fall asleep. It's really nice.)

Introduction

I don't really write poetry- hell, I don't even read it- but this poem just kind of showed up in my brain last night. I guess I felt like I had to write it down somewhere.

The angels sing their refrain:
"His glory shall reign.
His will shall be done,
And just like the sun,
It will scorch out wholly
All that we hold dear,
But do not have a fear,
For it's only the light of day,
And all the sinners will pay."

There are things best in the nighttime,
Secrets to hold close and tight.
Even the greatest fall
When we build our towers too tall,
Try to reach the sun,
As though we and God are one.

The ever-watchful eyes
Of providence and pride
Must be plucked out one by one,
Taken from the sun.
Burning in their wrath and might,
They don't realize
That some things should be left
In the dark of night.
They'll never turn out the lights.

Don't hesitate
And don't look away.
Hold on tight
And turn out the lights.

I see a thousand
Glowing, vengeful eyes.
They are angry.
Turn the lights off.

The angel's eaten,
But he still hungers.
He's broken me
And I'll never recover.
Don't go near him.
Don't be scared
But don't be fooled.
He is hungry.
Turn the lights off.

So, yeah, I guess I'll call it "Turn The Lights Off." Creative, I know.