Mostly I remember my dreams in snatches.
Riding a train through a land of monsters.
A young French girl begs for acts of kindness.
Being in the Korean Army and having my release papers in hand when war breaks out.
Good night sweetheart, good night.
When I was young used I had these incredibly vivid and complex dreams and daydreams with regularity. I would wake up with whole worlds seared into my imagination. Then they stopped coming so often. Now they are rare. I really miss the daydreams, which almost never happen now. They were so intense, and so loud! As with most things these days I appreciate them more when they come. So much so that I try to write them down upon awakening.
It is normal for me to dream in third person. I am often not myself. Sometimes I am not the main character. In some dreams I am not in them at all.
Prologue
The woman in white worries. Should she go through with it? Can she? She doesn’t love him, something her parents, who have arranged the match, would dismiss as plebeian nonsense. She does like him, though. He’s smart. Funny. At the thought of him her mouth almost involuntarily stretches into a smile. And Lord knows he’s easy to look at. Sex isn’t always just chemistry. It can be more like a sport. With dedication and lots of practice, maybe they could make it work.
She stood, the soft skirts pooling as her feet. Opening the door to her anxious bridesmaids and coldly furious mother she picked up her bouquet and nodded her head. “Let’s do this.”
The story
The sprawling beach house was filled with people celebrating the merger of two empires in the form of a wedding. The crowd was mostly Black and all wealthy. Old money, the kind that is passed down generation to generation. They wore formal wear, the men mainly in black and the women in every color imaginable and then some. Looking down on the crowd she thought, “Like crows and butterflies.” Though, on reflection, she decided that was unfair to butterflies. Unless there were bird eating butterflies. She’d have to look it up.
Where there was money there was power and where there was power there was bullshit. Dangerous bullshit. Taking a sip from her glass she assessed the happy couple. Still in their wedding attire they greeted a seemingly endless line of guests. They looked perfect. The vanilla of the gown complimented the bride’s golden brown skin. Her deep brown curls wreathed in roses with pink edges and yellow middles. The groom standing head and shoulders above his new wife, wore a tuxedo so traditional it could have been his father’s father’s father’s. The setting sun brought out red highlights in his brown skin. Both their faces were set in pleasant masks but that could have been the strain of personally greeting almost four hundred close friends and family.
Draining her second or third glass of champagne she pushed from the rail and almost ran into him. “Sorry,” he started. Seeing her he said, “Oh, it’s you.”
“Me,” She agreed with an elaborate bow she managed to mostly pull off despite the stilettos and lbd.
“You look good.” He said the words grudgingly, as though he wished they weren’t true.
She cocked her head in acknowledgment but did not reply. Truth was he looked good, too. Five years older he was in his early thirties and looking to be one of those men who got better with age. Dammit.
“Where’s the better half?”
“We’re not married yet.”
“Do I sense trouble in paradise?”
“Just noting that ‘better half’ refers to a wife and we are not married. Yet.”
She rolled her eyes, mostly to stop them from tearing up. “Whatever.”
“She’s not here.”
Her green eyes met his light brown ones, “No?”
“No.”
She set her empty glass carefully down on the rail. It had definitely been three glasses of champagne. Her blood felt fizzy. “Would you like company as you face the teeming masses?”
“I would like your company.” He offered his arm. Knowing that any decision involving touching him was a Bad Idea she tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.
Meanwhile, in another room.
He looked much nicer dead than he had alive. Cruelty had twisted his features. Not made him ugly. Oh no. Heavy lidded eyes, sensual lips, and a body that saw a hundred laps in his Olympic pool every single day he was sexy, if not actually handsome. In life his face had been hard, eyes calculating. But now he was soft. His face relaxed and ever so slightly surprised.
She knelt down to where he was sprawled on the ancient carpet and peered into his baby blues.