Jennifer New Writes & Reads

Filing My Dreams…

The arena was so large, that to look to the other side, showed how ancient it was. The whole place was brown and dark. The carpet was brown. The seats were dark, old, wooden, fold up chairs. The walls were dark and windowless. The water should have been murky, but you could see to the bottom.

Selecting a seat on the far side of the arena was not my choice. I just knew to sit there. So many empty seats but I walked all the way around to the other side. Even the bag I carried that I sat on the old carpet, was gray and dark.

I looked out in to the deep stagnant water. I heard the people’s cheers. I saw the creature swimming slowly across the bottom of the water. There was no ripple, no sound. Wanting to look away, my eyes were drawn to the edge. I saw her slip in to the water silently. As if from nowhere, the creature swam to her, her fingers reaching to caress it’s side, but swiftly and quietly she was gone. Mouths were open, but silent also. Eyes held an eerie excitement, as if, they wanted to see it happen again.

A man from the crowd slid in to the water, his young son jumped in, creating a small plop in the strange water. I wanted to leave. My side was still empty, an, I knew, standing as I did, watching them perish, I could not help them.

Reaching the dark double doors was not an easy task. At one point I had to crawl across the spot where the girl was taken. The seats were immersed in water and I was filled with fear. My eyes were full of tears and pleads for mercy were escaping my lips. I called for my daughter. Please help.

She appeared from the left hall beyond the doors. She told me I had left my bag and that I had to have it. I would need to go back. Looking at her, I knew she was not my daughter but an ancestor from the past. Short bangs, bobbed thick hair,low slung white dress. She reached her hand to hold mine, looking sweetly, but firmly, in to my eyes.

That bag. I did not believe it even belonged to me? Nor, what was even inside. It was so light. Not full. Why had I not used it better? Why couldn’t I have picked a pretty color? I vowed to do my best. A promise to keep if I got out of this place alive and safe.

Going back was slow and painful, death’s grip constantly praised with cheers.Returning to the doors, I looked to the left hall, then to the right. She was still there, slowly smiling, turning to retreat.

Suddenly, from the right, came a lady dressed in an old brown gown. Maybe, clothes from the 1800’s. She saw the question in my mind and before I could ask what was happening, she whispered in my ear, “The Saints Are Marching In.”