April 14, 2012

April 14, 2012 - Save Them

This is a dream I've had before. The objective is always the same, but the people change. Because of the way it affected me this time, I have decided to write it down. This is only based on the actual dream, but the base details are the same. I plan on writing more around this dream sequence some time soon. But for now, I hope you enjoy this little piece of a missing puzzle.

I remember this place... The same rooms, the same objective... But the people change. Her name is Leslie. I don't know why I keep doing this. Always saving people, some I don't know... It's my job to save them. They would die without me. I save them... Sometimes I know and love them... The Gods have funny ways...

Leslie looks at me, pleading for help. I'm in the East room. A knife lays beside her, but it's not life or death she looks for... She is begging me to help her receive pleasure. I ignore her cries, grabbing the knife. Her hand reaches out, touching mine. I debate killing her in this room and, thinking better of myself, leave her there. The moment I leave the room, the blade of the knife vanishes. Left in my hand is the hilt. Again, the East room holds no answers. I toss the hilt back in and the blade returns.

The West room is almost the same, except the girl in it was real. Leslie follows me to another room, my room, to get clothes. In the West room I had found her naked, bruised, begging for the pain to stop. Leading her out removed what marks there were, but the psychological damage was already done. I gave her a pink sweater and jeans to wear. How my room always had clothes for these people, I didn't want to know. I got the feeling that this... place just knew what was needed. I also felt like poor Leslie had seen other versions of herself. The look in her eyes was sad as she asked me about them, if I loved them.

I said the only thing I knew was a comfort to people like her. "They aren't real. And I will never love them as much as I love you."

Her face lit up with joy. She hugged me... I had to hug her before leaving her there. I turned back to see her start to cry. There was no time for it... I locked her in my room for safe keeping. Couldn't have another incident.

The North room held the real knife. The version of Leslie in there was bawling like a baby. There was something seriously wrong with it. I didn't kill it this time. I don't know why. It wasn't like there was a usual procedure in which to do everything, I just... didn't. The crying girl screamed as I left her in the cold North room.

With the knife in my hand, I wondered if I should even bother with the South room... It wasn't like me to ignore a room just because I had the objective. I placed the knife on the shelf outside my room and started the walk south.

The South room was a touch cool. That in itself was unusual. South room is usually a fair bit warmer than the rest. Today... Something had to have been off. Regardless, I wandered through, looking for the false girl and knife I knew would be inside. I found them both at a beach. A beach? This damned place enjoys playing with my head... And... Leslie was a little girl, carving designs in the sand with the knife... Clever. I didn't think I would ever see that again. And maybe little is the wrong word... She looked to be about 12. A 12-year-old girl... playing with a knife... in the sand... at the beach. The young Leslie looked up at me and beckoned for me to come over. It was with great caution I approached her. The design was intricate and beautiful.

That is when I noticed something off about her behaviour. She was... I don't think I can describe it. In fact, I'm not even going to try. I asked her for the knife. Young Leslie looked at me in confusion. It took a bit of coaxing before she would relinquish the weapon. Complimenting her work in the sand, she smiled and continued drawing with her finger. It was still very greatly detailed. I gained no pleasure when I buried the knife in her skull. Her body gave a few spastic jerks before being still in the sand.

Bleeding in the sand. That is where I saw the young Leslie die. I left the room quickly and almost ran back to my own room. The door was still locked when I arrived. The crying girl I left there was no sleeping in my bed. She no longer was clothed. I had never loved the person I was supposed to save and I wasn't about to start. I watched her for a few moments before grabbing a book from one of the shelves. Again, I locked her in my room. While she slept inside, I sat in front of the door. The book was one of many large, leather bound volumes on the many shelves. None had anything on the spine. The covers, however, were embossed with gold lettering. I never knew which one I needed until it was already in my hand.

The letters on this book spelled "LESLIE" in large block letter. These books always told the rest of the story. It always made me wonder why the challenges were even there... I gave my head a good shake. I knew damn well why they were there. A test. If they could be redeemed, they would be. But Leslie's book was different. It told of her -wanting- to be here. Wanting? Something was very wrong. No one consciously wanted to be here... Maybe she didn't know she wanted to be here? Her story is long. Parts are sad. Most are rather strange.

Besides her seemingly wanting to be here, it notes something about love. Love? There is no mention of a name, but the description... Does it match mine? I have never seen a mirror... Closing the book, I go back into the room. Leslie is awake. Yes... There is love in her eyes... A love for me.

It's wrong. There is no room for love in my life. I go over my rules silently. My rules. Not the ones I gave myself, but ones that I've always known I needed to follow. I cannot love. Not because I don't want to. Just because I simply can't. Maybe once I could... But no more.

I stand there, looking at her. She is pleading with me to stop. I blink once before realizing I have the knife in my hand. Until that moment, I didn't realize what I was doing. But I understood that, whatever it was, it needed to be done. I tell her in a soft voice that it will all be over soon. I tell her she can stay here when I'm finished. The look on her face is one of joy, followed swiftly by terror as I plunge the knife in her throat.

When I finish, the room is covered in her blood. Her mutilated body is still on my bed. I toss the knife down on top of her. A sink is now in one of the corners. It's only big enough to wash the blood off my hands, but I manage to wash the rest of my body as well. I'm dripping wet when I turn back to the rest of my room. Had anyone been there at that moment, I'm sure the look on my face would have been quite a sight. Leslie's body was gone. The room was clean.

It isn't long before I hear the sounds of another being brought here. I put Leslie's book back on the shelf before gathering clothes for myself. I choose a long black dress. I am sure that a man is arriving. Looking more feminine always softens the blow for them.

As I start off to the North room, I repeat the cycle that I have always known. Maybe there are others in similar cycles... Maybe the people I save have seen them first... Or maybe, just maybe, there is something after my cycle... Maybe death by my hand isn't the end of the story...

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