#end;

POOF!

You wake up staring at a familiar ceiling.

The house before you was ugly. The wood was rotten and soaked, there were broken windows, and the front door was locked.

You knocked, the door swung open, and you remembered what you were trying to do the moment floor-boards squeaked under your weight. You were trying to see and retain all you could, because this was the mind of a man who had an unhealthy penchant for young children.

There was one body that had never been recovered, and the family simply wanted to lay their child to rest.

There was broken glass on the floor and there was a piece of carpet that had been parted, revealing a latch and when tugged, a murder of crows flew at your face, your eyes, your skin.

Crows and a hidden hatch and a wall of broken glass and at the last, when the black wings moved elsewhere, you saw a sign, you felt wrath, you understood and that understanding nearly brought you to your knees.

This man’s thoughts were darker than anything you had ever tasted in the back of your throat.

That sign was part of an address, no more than a hunch, but many days later, you received a call that stated that the young girl was alive and it was all thanks to him, that the experiment was a success.

You saved a young girl’s life. That was worth how ill you got afterwards, it was worth having to sleep in the bathroom for a few night’s straight.

You agreed to being called upon whenever you were needed, because there were more people out there who could be saved, not only because of you, you’ve never thought very highly of yourself for that to be true, but because of this new...invention.

You didn’t know yet that prolonged exposure to falling into that world of dreams would give you the ability to fall into anyone’s dreams. You didn’t know yet about the damage you were inflicting on the house that was your own psyche.

All you knew was that it was wrong to let yourself sit and do nothing. You would never be able to live with yourself if you did that.

You were a secret and it was an unspoken expectancy that you tell no one about this. Who would believe you? There was no such thing as this sort of technology, there was no such thing as living nightmares, as monsters that were born from the hearts of man, for men were monsters in and of themselves.

You couldn’t pull the trigger. But you could do this and teach the students that you loved.

You’re not what they call you, for you are what you make yourself.