Dreams

            Crow stood over the dead woman and sighed. He’d been doing this for twelve years he thought. It was dark outside now and he took some freshly hunted deer and helped himself to a stew of sorts. The house had everything but was still wrong in a way. It was haunted it seemed, too clean, too good… He would leave as soon as he could but that seemed too far away. He averted his eyes from the window that reached out into the pitch black woods and to the warm fireplace and blanketed couch.

            “Might as well try and relax…” He murmured to himself as he set the cup of tea onto the counter and entered the living room. He lay down on the couch and gazed up at a freshly painted mural on the ceiling.

            This chick really was tranced her entire life.

            He thought in gaping horror looking at the painting. It was of Dibala, the entire thing, Dibala’s true form, a form so sickening and wide that not even this full mural that covered the entire ceiling and even drooped down in parts could describe and there weren’t even spaces between the Demon’s limbs and such it was just Dibala… Crow clenched his eyes closed and the image faded slowly but surely and then he fell…

            He was asleep for maybe three minutes and his dreams began.

            Crow stepped into the soft meadow and felt the essence of its peace. ‘Where am I’ he thought slowly and then saw a deer. It was just across the meadow and was glimmering with what seemed like shattered diamonds in what little light the meadow had and what awing twilight it did have. He saw that the entire meadow was filled with this sparkling substance and saw that it was growing.

            “Crohan.” A voice from behind him said stern and loud. He turned to see his father standing as he often had in his child hood. “Crohan, sit down…” He said. Crow looked confused for a moment but then nodded with a grin on his face as if the chair had always been there. He sat and felt the long and outstretched leather that he should have fit into nicely but he only knew his father’s study chair as a child and therefore he only sat in it as a child. And that he was he was a child now and they were no longer in the meadow they were in his father’s study and Crow was swinging his legs with an innocent smile he would never have again.

            “Honey, don’t go too hard on him, he didn’t know you know.” Crohan’s mother said patiently in the door way of the study. Reluctantly he saw his father nod and then turn his eyes to Crow.

            “Son, you should never pick up one of my blades, that is not okay.” He said in that way he always spoke to Crow.

            “Well, I just wanted to show my friends, I know that you don’t like talking about when you were a soldier…” Crohan frowned and then sighed. “I won’t do it again.” He said and jumped off the seat and began out.

            “Crohan! Never again should you use one of my blades!” He said sharply. Crow turned and nodded. “Crow!” Something was wrong now, as if awakening from a memory and coming back to reality, this wasn’t supposed to happen… Crow would nod and that would be the last time he spoke, that would be the last time his father addressed him that day. Crow turned fully aged to what he was now in his full black attire that his Father wore now. His father’s cold and worn face looked back into his son’s and his father’s face began to change. It didn’t age, it went back… He was Crow’s age now if not younger and god did they look alike. “If you continue this path you will die son…”

            Crow shook his head. “No, this isn’t you; I know it’s not you… This is Dibala.” Crow said to himself.

            “Is it so hard to believe that this Trek across worlds into places no one has ever travelled to before from where you’re from could kill you, is it so hard to believe son….” His father’s voice sounded young and stubborn as Crow’s did often.

            “This is all I’ve got after what happened to you… After what happened to our family and after what happened to everyone else I’ve ever loved. What do you think I should do...?” Crow’s eyes fell to the wooden floor of his father’s study and filled with tears.

            “You’re supposed to cut your losses! You’re supposed to let what’s happened be and not go kill yourself as well!” His Father almost yelled.

            “Shut up! Dibala!” He drew his blade in a flicker of light and slashed his Father down in a flicker of light. “Akimi!” He roared but his Father just cackled as blood flooded out of his mouth and down his chin.

            “This is a dream, Crow! Not some exorcism field, this is my field!” The voice croaked as it had in the Old woman and Crow looked up to see the study was gone and they were in the charred remains of his home. “I must ask how you recovered from such a loss Swordsmen! How you could lose your entire family to death and still continue this journey! Stop now and I will spare your life fool!” Crohan finished his father and turned expecting to see a different seen, praying to see a different seen but instead he saw what he feared what he had nightmares of and what this was of, the charred remains of his family.

            “How does it feel boy!?” Before the thunderous reenactment of what the old woman painted on her ceiling could continue he was thrashing his blade into the beast that looked like every terror wound together.

            “**** you and your **** psychological games!” He shouted and then pierced Dibala’s stomach or at least what he thought could be his stomach. “How about you? Any remnants of dead family members or horrible lively moments that made you what you are?” Crow barked and suddenly they were falling through an infinite darkness space some might say but what space without stars?

            “No!” Was all the simple croaking voice of Dibala shouted as they landed hard against a bare dirt campus. Crow rolled on the ground in pain for a moment but Dibala, now as a child stood watching a gathering of kids run around a camp in the light of day playing some game Crohan didn’t recognize. Crow stood and walked behind Dibala or at least what he thought Dibala and watched the kids. One of them was Dibala. ‘Oh my god, I’m inside of Dibala’s memories’ He thought and then stepped past the frozen Dibala and towards the kids.

            “What the hell…” He said to himself watching the kids play. He turned to Dibala whose eyes were wide and strained towards Crow.

            “Get the hell out!” Dibala cried and at that Crow flew backwards!

            Crow awakened coughing up something. It was water… It spilled across his blanket and he flew to his feet and threw his body against the window. It streaked with a crack and he pulled back looking at the morning woods, the graceful light that shined down through the trees and he felt his aching body. He had no time to waste.

            Crohan gathered what he needed and left the Old woman’s home as soon as he could. He burned it down before he left. Something wasn’t right about the home at all and as the Old tranced woman died it seemed only fit that her home die with her.