Midnight Clearing

Clarity comes when least expected, when you least desire it to come. When deep down you already know the answer and hearing it out loud will only make the wound tear itself open again.

When you feel like you can't live through the truth, it finally comes to you.

My dreams do this to me every night. My problems, my questions, my hopes and fears... So much is revealed--if a bit cryptically--in the dreams. But they're just vague enough that I don't have enough answers to be satisfied, to have the thirst entirely satiated.

Last night, I dreamt about so many people, all in one place at the same time, all shouting at me from different directions. Nothing new; I've seen this before. They shout and they cry and they scream and point in separate ways and beg me to save them.

Stupidly, I do. And I always end up dying to do so.

But last night was a little bit different than before. Last night, I recognized no one--not a single person--and felt more alone than ever before. There was only one person whose presence seemed to comfort my fear, and he, too, was completely unfamiliar.

He didn't smile, didn't offer me any assistance, didn't even speak to me at first. He watched me struggle with the screamed instructions, watched me stumble down the endless, dripping corridors that lead to thousands of dark dead ends...

As I prepared myself for the end of the dream [I can always tell when it's almost over; the entire atmosphere changes, shifting to revolve around me instead of the whole scene] and for the "death" that would soon follow, he suddenly appeared again, shattering the tension and staring down at me with cold, sad, deep eyes.

"You shouldn't have come," he said quietly, his voice only a murmur in the odd air. "You should have stayed where you were and avoided all of this. Too many mistakes. Too many mishaps. You're a menace, little girl, and you've ruined everything.

"They're all going to die, because you didn't save them. You didn't try hard enough. You failed. You--"

It's at this point that I broke his face. He screamed at first--high-pitched, sort of silly--and then crumbled into a thousand tiny bits of dust. I stood before him, ready to fight him if he put himself back together...

And I died, just as predicted, but the dream didn't end. The people went on living, each with a separate direction and purpose. All because I saved them. Because I did everything I could for them, without questioning my job. And, in my half-awake lucidity, I found that I was shockingly content.

Is this my place? My purpose? To be the one who saves them all without a single regret? I can't be sure. I can't be sure of anything. I'm certainly not going to die any time soon [hopefully, anyway] and I'm pretty sure the masses won't gather to shout at me, but still... The meaning was clear.

If I let the questions get into my head--the voice of the familiar boy with the deeply depressing eyes--then I'll fail. I have to have no doubts, no regrets, if I want to succeed and ensure that the people I love don't get hurt. I'm not expecting impending murder or attack. I'm waiting for the emotional struggles of everyday life to catch up to people, to harm them. It's my job to prevent such pain...

The thing is, I'm not sure if I'm able to protect them without asking questions.

And the thing about that is that it scares me beyond all belief to think that my measly doubts could affect their lives.