Night begins. It is time.
***
Purple mist hangs in the pinkish air. It is either daybreak or sunset, hard to tell. Maybe it's no time at all. Maybe it's no world at all. I wander and inhale, the mist is scented with lavendar and lilac. Perhaps every color is tethered to senses here. The pink air does have a hint of rose. The ground is yellow. Absently, I reach to grab some of it and bring it to my lips. It tastes of sunflowers. The world is all flowers I find.
The dreamer sits a ways off, digging absently with one hand in the yellow earth. The motion is repetetive, compulsive. The dreamer does not seem as calmed by the atmosphere as I am. I approach the dreamer, but, as always, the dreamer does not see me. They dig, and dig, and dig with one hand. The other rests at heart center. I wish to ask what they are digging for, but they wouldn't be able to answer me. Instead, I observe more closely. The hand on the heart is digging into the chest ever so slightly, the finger nails sharp, but clean of yellow earth.
Suddenly, they inhale.
The dream fades.
***
I am in a forest now, thick with pine needles. Oddly though, there is no scent in this dream. I feel the needles underneath my bare feet and they feel pleasant, comforting. There is a soft light coming through the branches that lightly warms my dreamwalker skin. I relish in it.
It takes me a while to find the dreamer, although perhaps I am simply enjoying the trees too much. The dreamer is running with deer, frolicking really. Their smile is luminous and they somehow keep pace with the deer. Such is the world of dreams. The deer don't startle at the dreamer's lilting laughter that carries through the still air with a small ripple. Instead, the deer speed up and so does the dreamer.
I run with them and take a glance behind us. Behind is is a dark mist. It only seems to advance as we advance, neither gaining on us nor losing ground. It is simply there. The deer and the dreamer don't notice it, instead they leap and gallop and even skip. The mist does not encroach but hangs back. I do not approach it, I leave it be.
The dream fades.
***
A yellow color fills the world around me. Green alien-like blobs pop in and out of it. They have a fringe of purple around them and they waggle in and out of existence. They make noises that sound like words but have no real form. I wonder if the dreamer can understand them.
The dreamer stands in the middle of this empty yellow space, completely agog. I doubt that even if they could see me that they would notice me. They stare up at the purple-fringed green popping in and out of yellow and are mesmerized.
An array of pink dots fills the sky and the dreamer's eyes only get wider. The noises are growing louder but not in a threatening way. No, instead they rise like the sound of a party in full swing rises, pleasantly and with bubbles.
There is no pattern to the blobs' appearance and disappearance. I try timing it, try matching it, try predicting it and each time I fail. Perhaps the pattern makes sense only to the dreamer or perhaps it makes sense to no one at all. Yet the pattern, or lack thereof, does not seem to concern the dreamer. The dreamer continues to take in the spectacle without complaint or confusion, just awe.
I observe the dreamer closely and see that the colors are mimicked in their eyes. They are tied to this somehow. Or, at least here they are.
The dream fades.
***
Day dawns. Time is over.
(Prompt by Kimisha Cassidy)
Full prompt: You're a dreamwalker--you visit other people's dreams while you're dreaming. Write a series of vignettes (for same person or different people)
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