Umibozu

I am dreaming.

My path is unlit. The trunks of trees pass by, crowded so densely that the moonlight does not pass through the thick canopy. The leaves rustle and the wind whistles; the sticks crack and the twigs snap under my splintered soles. The silence is ominous; it presses in on my stomach and heightens my terror.

The weight of the air suffocates my breath, its icy touch like poison down my trachea, and I gag.

I muster a scream. My mouth does not move.

I must be dreaming.

I must be.

But I don't remember falling asleep.

In dreams there is some sense of abstract, absurdity at a level that is unpredictable, limitless to human understanding. Dreams are intangible, only existing in one medium.

The mind.

You cannot hear dreams, you cannot feel dreams. They are neither quiet, nor loud, nor hot, nor cold. Dreams are sand, impossible to grasp, slipping through the cracks between your fingers and leaving behind minuscule remnants that cling to your palms and can never be fully ridded.

That is why I know I cannot be dreaming.

However, I still doubt my reality. While I am awake, my body is not.

I do not control my arms: they extend outwards, an everlasting symbol of embrace. I suffer the lethargic burn that swarms my muscles, threatening to tear them apart. I suffer the slicing of my skin, as the coarse bark within my arm's length carves into my palms. My blood drips onto the foliage in my wake.

I do not control my legs. They soldier on, despite the resistance of every gnarled offshoot tugging at my silk gown, despite the painful cuts accumulating on my shins. Thorns pierce through my toes. My long hair catches on each branch in my way, contorted fingers pulling on my locks, ripping the strands from my scalp. I do not slow.

I am only granted control of my breath- irregular and dreaded, for how can I possibly comprehend my situation? I am forced to simply abide as the trees hardly part for me, some omnipotent force manipulating my being through this woodland purgatory.

Is this God's work? His Divine Intervention?

If this is His plan, why do I suffer?

He has stolen my memories from me... no, more than that. My past has been deemed expendable, for all I know is my present and that if I try to cry for help, He will refuse me. I am reduced to my basic, primary instinct. The very root of my humanity.

Fear.

As if I had spent my entire lifetime wandering through these woods, I emit a miraculous sigh as the trees open to a clearing. Before me, a lake, circular in size, surrounded by the forest from which I came. A strange clearing, as the moon curiously peers from above, and the water shimmers only in its image, rather than its surface.

Its tranquility is unsettling; my body tenses again as it continues its journey down to the shore.

It is almost a mirror, reflecting the sky, from the way it does not ripple, as if no living creature has ever ventured near it. Perhaps they are too afraid of being drawn in, for its aura distorts my senses. It meddles with my thoughts and twists my insides. It seems to whisper with the wind, for my gown is ruffled by the breeze and my skin prickles with uneasiness.

My eyes, glued open to the night sky, glisten with the helplessness my mind is wracked with. My body is unrelenting: it has not halted for all I can remember, and the lake stands imposed upon my path.

An insanity, one that comes from the realisation of inescapable doom, takes hold of my mind and I strain with all my might to fight for command. An onlooker would hardly know, for all my efforts gain me nothing. My body remains as it was- paralysed and slowly shuffling in the slush, the squelching bringing a sickness to my stomach.

I am perhaps a few feet from the lake now. I want to wail, I want to cry, I want to beg at the merciful Lord's feet and repent for every sin, no matter that I do not remember. I panic and I spiral and...

Wait... What is that?

A humming, no... a murmuring. As I approach, the sounds are guttural, the words foreign.

Ecifircas ruo si ereh rof, uzobimu esiarp... Ecifircas ruo si ereh rof, uzobimu esiarp...

It is now that shadows begin to emerge from the trees. My chest seizes in alarm as I perceive perhaps a hundred of these cloaked figures slink out into the night, their movements phantasmal as they almost glide across the mush. They surround the lake in an orderly fashion, standing side by side, heads turned towards the water as if it revealed something I could not see.

I do not consider for a second that they are here to help me- the lake has called them here. They are to seal my fate.

For a short moment, I am glad that my body stands for itself; my body would surely crumple under my diminishing will.

My toes go numb as they meet the freezing water. Soon, I hardly notice my paralysis as the icy sensation creeps up my calves, lighting my wounds on fire, and seizing my muscles. All my thoughts come to a halt- the pain of constriction is now up to my neck, and my senses are drowned out by the cryptic mutterings.

Then my body stops, and everything falls silent. Neck deep in murky water, I choke for air.

I can hardly see, my vision obscured with my wretched tears. A figure across the lake raises his arms, palms supine, and raises his head to the sky. Then he drops to his knees. While I cannot turn my head, I witness the rest of the figures in my sight do the same, and once again, I am filled with pure and utter dread.

"No," I beg.

The sound of my own voice jump starts my heart; like a spark, it gives me the energy I need. I cry up at the moon.

"Help! Help, please!"

If they are truly human, they will help. They will help me.

They will.

The croaking of my cracked voice dies as the murmuring arises once again, and my body begins its descent.

No, no, no...

I repeat it incessantly in my mind and I only stop to inhale before I am taken by the lake. I sink suddenly, the bed sloping into an unseen abyss. My ears sting at the pressure, yet I still hear the hazy sounds of chanting. My eyes irritate with the water's contact. yet I still choke as I see the darkness moving- no, writhing- beneath me.

My suspicions of the source of my paralysis are confirmed.

There is something in the water.

This creature, this... darkness. It rises and engulfs, takes hold and never relents. It's a black swirl, billowing in great form, unlike smoke from a chimney for this fog has a mind of its own and does not only ascend, but twists and encircles. I no longer feel the dread of painful death that was, at most, a minute coming.

Two, bright orbs manifest in the dark water; they blink once, twice at my being, and I suddenly realise how wrong I am.

My fear diminishes, replaced with joy. This is not the work of God, this is of something older. He is ancient, benevolent, full of wonder and of mercy, and I am eternally grateful.

I am finally at peace. He has granted me freedom.

My outstretched arms embrace the depths and my lungs no longer burn. I submit to Him, as I was always supposed to, for I was always in control.

My mind grasps more than dreams. It is filled with light.

Uzobimu esiarp.