Today has been insane. I’m about ready to fall down. It’s almost midnight and my alarm will go off at five-thirty. Ech. So, since my day hasn’t made much sense, the snippet I’m leaving for you won’t, either. Not until later in the story, anyways… and if, after this, you’d like to see more of my ramblings, you can always check out “B is for…. Blue, Better and a Baby (Not Mine!)”, my post for today in the A to Z Challenge.
Dreams live in the subconscious, safely hidden from a person’s waking self. They may be forgotten almost the instant the dreamer wakes up, or they may linger in the mind for days. And for insubstantial weavings of a slumbering mind, dreams can carry weight. Dreams can be shield, memory or tormentor, however the subconscious chooses, and Cass’s dreams as she began to regain her identity and her own mind were all three.
Slowly, bit by bit, her sleeping mind began to snatch at what felt like imaginings, but felt too eerily familiar to be anything other than memories. Even though she was safe from what she saw, not to be harmed, she still tossed restlessly, trying to fight her way to consciousness and avoid the dreams whistling in like an arctic wind. She saw rolling green hills, kissed by a late fall sun, and smiled in her sleep; when she saw the seaside, with a fierce storm rolling towards the cliffs, she cringed and whimpered in her sleep, her hand curling into a fist on the pillow.