This story is copyrighted to Adrienne Wolter in 2003 and onwards. It was written on Tuesday, November 25th, 2003.

This story is extremely abstract; at first it seems to take place maybe a century ago but then there's a coffee maker. And a car. Haha. That is explained away by the fact that this idea came from a dream I had more than a year ago... a dream explained on my domain.

Of a Dream

“Stay awake.”
My drooping eyelids snap open as the words are spoken sharply with a sharp wrap on my back. My parents sit across the rickety card table, looking grave and each trying to keep the other conscious of our surroundings.
I don’t know what is going on. They just gave me a saddened look when I inquired the first four times, so I doubt they’ll do any more the fifth time. Gathered around this table are some servants, the cooks, some houseguests. I cannot really tell who all is here; the faces of the ten individuals around me swim. I wished for some light, but we only had three candles, hurriedly grabbed by our maid on the way out of our house. We had walked down the road to this place, on the side opposite our house, that a card table was already set up.

We crowd together in our seats for warmth. Most of us are in our pajamas. Only myself, my parents, and a houseguest had thought to grab a shawl. I take another long drink of the coffee placed before me. One thought remains constant in my mind; the need to stay awake, to find out what is going on. No one speaks. They all seem to understand the situation. I wish they would tell me.
There is a coffee machine set up on the corner of the card table. It is a rather large table, allowing for eleven to surround it, although not comfortably. Our maid, in an apron borrowed from the chef standing beside her, doles our coffee to those of us who have had everything already in our mugs.
“Why are we here?”
Again no one answers; out of the corner of my eye I see a grey-haired houseguest shake her head. My mother looks ready to cry. My father awkwardly pats her. The butler snores from beside them, oblivious.

A wild thought springs up in my mind. What if we are hiding?
But then, why are we in the middle of the road?
A car passes us silently, not slowing or even showing any signs of noticing us. I shrug at this, deciding maybe the driver is drunk or doesn’t care that a car on our side could squash us.
I stare down at my hands and feel my head roll back. Again, the maid whacks me. She goes on to do the same with the butler. He sheepishly sits up, glares at the table.

I finally stand jerkily, knocking my chair back into the bush behind me. The rest of the table, fully awake, looks up at me.
“Why? Why are we here? Someone tell me! You all know, what makes me different?”
They do not speak, until my mother requests that I retrieve my chair. I huffily turn around and stare into the forest, unmoving.
“Why?”
The question echoes back at me, out of the woods, and I feel drawn to the line of trees while at the same time tensing, hating the idea of going closer to the forest. I take a step.

Again the word echoes at me. Everything around me spins, everything except the short space between the foldable chair and I, the edge of the trees that the chair legs poke out of. Another step.
I’m reeling. I feel nauseated, I do not want to follow the question, find an answer. I mustn’t close the gap.
I turn towards the table. But there is no table. There is no road. It’s all gone. I am alone, In a forest, and there is no moon to show me anything. I cannot see.
My knees collapse, I yelp but I cannot hear it. I claw at my eyes, I cannot see, I cannot see. I’m spinning, I can’t make it stop. Curling up in a ball does nothing but make me feel more alone.
A single word escapes my lips, although no one could have told that it was I who said it, it only being an echo of the many questions swirling around me, bumping into me and shoving me here and there. I am standing again, and then I trip, and fall. My head hits a tree. I do not live to repeat the question.