The Night Curse (Book one)

My mind turns inwards, and I drift along waves of sleep—teetering on the edge of oblivion. My dream is caught between worlds. One is a sense of self; the other is a playground. A familiar reality pervades like a developing photograph, and I immerse within the construct of my mind.

The world greets me knowingly. The air here is thick with a purple haze that mirrors my eyes. Those tell-tale rings of violet that let all who look upon them know what I am. What I can do.

I shake my head and push on.

A film of mist lingers around my ankles. I raise my hand to the trunk of a nearby tree and rake my palm against its flaky bark. I would only get splinters if I chose to get splinters. I could push as forcefully as I will, and my hand would remain unmarked. Unscathed.

My naked feet cross the forest floor towards the clearing, snapping fallen twigs in their wake. I take note of the leafless branches: the low hush of wind. A plum moon illuminates the darkness like a blooming orchid growing amongst the dirt. Somewhere out of sight, animals howl, acknowledging my arrival.

I smile.

How ironic. Beasts greet me as a friend here.

I make it to the clearing and crouch to lay down on the ground. So real beneath my spine. My hands glide through the blades of grass surrounding me, and I close my eyes. Listen. Feel. My muscles loosen as I inhale the smell of the place. A floral perfume of my choosing. My mother’s scent.

When I open my eyes, wildflowers sprout as if woken from hibernation, peppering the floor with cherry red hibiscus and perennials. My gaze lifts to a spray of luminol stars.

So much of this garden mirrors my own. My real garden. But here, I am without judgment or fear. Here lies my sanctuary. It’s within me. All I have to do is sleep.