Ed

There is a young man sitting on my bed. He has wild, softly spiked hair. His skin is pale, and he is dressed in a tight, black leather ensemble. His face reminds me of Edward Scissorhands’, it is drawn, sad and ghostly; and so we shall call him Ed.

He is sitting on my bed with a group of women. They are fawning all over him like nymphs over a Greek god. He graces them with the infrequent kiss but seems disinterested in their presence for the most part.

The group of women leaves, and I enter my room with a book on esoteria. Ironically, my room is the only room in which it is safe to read these books, and it is also his den. To my surprise, Ed draws out his own book on similar subjects from somewhere and proceeds to read. I sit on the floor beneath the window [my altar is not there] and begin to read as well. He lounges across my bed reading his book and occasionally glancing over its rim at me.

A boy named Remi enters my room. He does not like that Ed has taken up residence there, says as much, and leaves. I feel guilt but there is nothing I can do. This isn’t my room so much as it is Ed’s lair, and only somewhere I go to read.

Eventually me and Ed get close. I am fond of him as I am of Richard, the brother of the boy named Remi and attracted to him as I am to Kaze; not romantically or physically, but spiritually. Soon we read side by side, heads touching like conjoined twins, souls touching like kindred spirits.

One day he dismisses his group of women, so that only we two are inside my room, his den … our reading place. One day he sets his book aside, turns to me on his bended knees and draws me into a deep, tender kiss, where he gently touches the side of my face as if in reverence, as I sit on the floor before him. My book slides from my hand as I kiss him back. He lifts me into the air and pushes me softly back into my inner wardrobe wall, deepening the kiss. He has obviously been thinking about this for a while, but I am caught completely by surprise.

Ed: Part 2

Me, Ed and another person I believe are no longer in Barbados, are not inside of me, but are rather in Northern Europe somewhere, Belgium or Russian. At first there is a tween place between where we are and my room from the dream before, but soon it is closed and we are left alone in this other dream.

In this dream we are in the country side, walking down a country lane, with the woods lining either side of the avenue. There are witches in the trees. They are dressed like bohemians, young and fair, with reflective eyes and flowing hair. They swoop down from the trees like deadly angels, and before we know what has happened, before we can even run, our companion, Ed’s and mine, has been slain. Now she is a limp doll on the ground, dressed like a bohemian, young and fair, with reflective eyes and flowing hair.

Me and Ed run down the lane, and the witches glide after us in the tree tops. They try to separate us by a castle wall, projecting from the face of a cliff. Ed attempts to sacrifice himself for me that I might escape, but I refuse to leave without him, and so we both escape their trap and run again.

Now we are running through open country side interrupted by giant boulders. I can see us running from the eyes of the witches. I can feel their intent.

We run pass the bouldered fields, downhill towards one of those train station scenes you find on dated antique china or period porcelain tea sets. Across the tracks I can see the entire world spread out before us, dull brown and grey, undefined, and we are still running onward as I awaken.