Muse Shuffle: 2 (Warning: Contains a Violent Nightmare)
You took the word and made it heard >> And eased the people's pain and for that >> You were idolized, immortalized >> And you were not the same after that
Sweat soaked sheets tangled around Conner’s fingers. The oak bed creaked as he tossed and turned, low moans came from deep in his throat. The rapid movement of his eyes was evident even under closed eyes. Pain was written in his features. The dreams were the cost of what he had done.
* * * * *
The crowd was speaking in a hundred different languages. He understood enough of them, enough of the base of them to understand the hate and angry that was being spewed at him. More than that, the smell of anger, fear, and violence was like a spike through the head. They began to throw things at him. And he felt glass shatter over him, stones cut, bricks pummel. Smelled the threat of silver, the threat of death.
* * * * *Every night since he first faced the crowds, admitting what he was, he had had this dream. Every night the crowd’s anger overwhelmed them, and he died a slow death like only a werewolf can. The worst night were the ones were he changed and attacked the crowd, killing or turning dozens of others before they were able to tear him apart. He had destroyed more than a hundred hotel beds after they started. That had not diminished the rumors of him being gay. It had increased his cost of living incredibly. Here, in Roanoke he’d been able to wish himself a bed to withstand the terrors of the night, even if it creaked a little more each night.
* * * * *
He was still aware as they tore him apart, ripped him to pieces so small that even his tattoo was unrecognizable. He was aware as the crowd melted away, taking little bits of him with them. This time soft sounds came. They were so soft that if there hadn’t been complete silence otherwise no one could hear it. Seeing without eyes, he watched as they came. Wolves of more sizes, shapes, and colors he had ever met in his life. They were silent, moving on pads with claws retracted.
* * * * *Conner’s muscles unknotted, his ragged breaths slowed to quiet pants. The dream had never taken this path before. The wolves circled the place where the ruins of his body lay. Their serious eyes focused on the remains before somehow focusing on what ever was left of him to watch this. Then as one they raised their heads to release a howl. It was a song of loss, of heartache of hope. It spoke to him of the wolves who had been afraid of talking to people about what they were. Of the ones who fear that their neighbors would hunt them down. Of those who had died when the wolves had announced themselves. Those that lived because he had been willing to take a stand for them. The song ended as they slipped away a few at a time. When the only wolf left the dream slipped away.
* * * * *
Conner’s breathing deepened and he fell into a dreamless sleep for the first time in three years. The dream might come back tomorrow, but tonight he might actually gain some peace.
Sweat soaked sheets tangled around Conner’s fingers. The oak bed creaked as he tossed and turned, low moans came from deep in his throat. The rapid movement of his eyes was evident even under closed eyes. Pain was written in his features. The dreams were the cost of what he had done.
* * * * *
The crowd was speaking in a hundred different languages. He understood enough of them, enough of the base of them to understand the hate and angry that was being spewed at him. More than that, the smell of anger, fear, and violence was like a spike through the head. They began to throw things at him. And he felt glass shatter over him, stones cut, bricks pummel. Smelled the threat of silver, the threat of death.
* * * * *Every night since he first faced the crowds, admitting what he was, he had had this dream. Every night the crowd’s anger overwhelmed them, and he died a slow death like only a werewolf can. The worst night were the ones were he changed and attacked the crowd, killing or turning dozens of others before they were able to tear him apart. He had destroyed more than a hundred hotel beds after they started. That had not diminished the rumors of him being gay. It had increased his cost of living incredibly. Here, in Roanoke he’d been able to wish himself a bed to withstand the terrors of the night, even if it creaked a little more each night.
* * * * *
He was still aware as they tore him apart, ripped him to pieces so small that even his tattoo was unrecognizable. He was aware as the crowd melted away, taking little bits of him with them. This time soft sounds came. They were so soft that if there hadn’t been complete silence otherwise no one could hear it. Seeing without eyes, he watched as they came. Wolves of more sizes, shapes, and colors he had ever met in his life. They were silent, moving on pads with claws retracted.
* * * * *Conner’s muscles unknotted, his ragged breaths slowed to quiet pants. The dream had never taken this path before. The wolves circled the place where the ruins of his body lay. Their serious eyes focused on the remains before somehow focusing on what ever was left of him to watch this. Then as one they raised their heads to release a howl. It was a song of loss, of heartache of hope. It spoke to him of the wolves who had been afraid of talking to people about what they were. Of the ones who fear that their neighbors would hunt them down. Of those who had died when the wolves had announced themselves. Those that lived because he had been willing to take a stand for them. The song ended as they slipped away a few at a time. When the only wolf left the dream slipped away.
* * * * *
Conner’s breathing deepened and he fell into a dreamless sleep for the first time in three years. The dream might come back tomorrow, but tonight he might actually gain some peace.