the course of a day

That night she had a dream where her teacher was the villain. Locking people in cages for the sake of aiding body snatchers.
That night she had a dream where she took her husband’s form, unable to speak to him properly enough to ask him on a date.
That night she had a dream where her husband was a captive, her sister in law was utterly broken, and she was the only thing standing between them and a fate worse than death.
That night she had a dream where she was terrified and traumatized, she was a teenager again with no confidence to speak of facing down the threat of intergalactic war, and that horrified her.
That night she bore the scars of another world.

That morning she awoke cocooned tightly by her husband, who informed her she had been crying in her sleep, and he knew exactly why.
That morning she went to breakfast unable to look anyone in the eye for fear that they too could be One Of Them, except for him; she knew she saved him.
That morning she told him how it felt to be him, how much more confident she felt in his skin in that dream knowing that she didn’t have to be herself, didn’t have to face the reality of circumstance.
That morning she was told on no uncertain terms that that was preposterous, that she was loved for who she was and that she didn’t have to be anyone else no matter what the dreams said, and her husband held her close as she sobbed.
That morning she tried to mend her mental wounds.

That afternoon she realized she had class today, and tried to think of any excuse not to go, but she couldn’t think of anything.
That afternoon she showed up at the front door of the laboratory where her teacher and her wife called home, trembling and shaking and ready to throw up.
That afternoon her teacher asked her what was wrong with her, just like she had in the dream, and she tried to lie about it, because those memories told her that she was the enemy.
That afternoon they began to spar as they normally did, but the spar triggered flashbacks, and suddenly she was back in that pit watching her loved ones suffer by this woman’s own hand, crying and screaming and scared.
That afternoon she fought for her life.

That evening she grew depressed because she had freaked out over a dream and curled up in bed.
That evening she wondered why she was like this, why she had to see this, why it seemed like all the bad things happened to her.
That evening she lamented about how much hurt she had witnessed in just those few dreams, why everyone connected to her had to suffer for her existence and for war.
That evening she wished on the stars that she would never see that world again, that it would explode and rot as far as she cared, who gave a damn about who was lost, they’d all be lost anyway, it was hopeless for that world.
That evening she lay in bed and cried herself to sleep.

That night, she had a very peaceful dream in a very different world.
That night, she saw her and her husband in a book fort in a massive library, while her sister sat nearby with a novel, smiling.
That night, her mind became full of light, in the form of the shining brightness of the place where she sat, difficult to see if not for the shade of the books.
That night something spoke to her, deep inside herself, that nevermore would she suffer such peril from that terrible source again, from now until further notice its psychic cries would not echo from the void to her.
That night, she slept soundly.