The Dream of the First Dreamer
Mira dreamed of the first dreamer on the night of the fortieth anniversary.
She was standing in the field again, but the field was not the dying wasteland of her last crossing. It was the field as it had been in the beginning — green and lush, dotted with wildflowers, bordered by a forest of silver trees whose leaves shimmered in a light that had no source. The sky was blue, the air was warm, the wind was gentle.
The woman in gold stood at the center of the field.
She was young again — her silver hair flowing, her golden dress shimmering, her white eyes bright. She was not crying. She was not fading. She was not dying.
She was waiting.
“Hello, Mira,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“You’re not real.”
“I’m as real as your hope. As real as your love. As real as your dreams.”
“You died. You became the door. You became the song. You became the hunger.”
The woman smiled. It was a real smile, warm and bright and full of love.
“I became the door. I became the song. I became the hunger. And now I am becoming something else.”
“What?”
She stepped closer. Her bare feet left no prints in the grass.
“Free.”
Mira’s eyes filled with tears.
“Free?”
“The door is closing. The song is ending. The hunger is fading. You are the key.”
“I don’t want to be the key.”
“No one wants to be the key. That’s what makes it a burden.”
“How do I free you?”
The woman looked at the field. At the flowers. At the trees. At the light. “You don’t. You free yourself. The door is not my prison. It is yours. It has always been yours.”
“My prison?”
“The door is the fear in your heart. The song is the grief in your soul. The hunger is the loneliness in your bones. You have been carrying them your whole life. You have been feeding them your whole life. You have been becoming them your whole life.”
“What do I do?”
The woman took her hands. Her skin was warm.
“You let them go.”
The field began to fade.
The flowers wilted. The trees crumbled. The sky darkened.
“I have to go,” the woman said.
“Where?”
“Back. To the door. To the song. To the hunger.”
“You’ll be alone again.”
The woman smiled. It was a sad smile, small and tired and full of years.
“I have always been alone. But I have also always been loved. By you. By the dreamers. By the sleepers. By everyone who ever hoped.”
“Will I see you again?”
The woman reached out and touched her face.
“Every time you dream. Every time you hope. Every time you love. I’ll be there. Watching. Waiting. Loving you.”
She stepped back.
The light consumed her.
She was gone.
Mira woke.
The room was dark. The ship was quiet. The void was still.
Her pillow was wet.
She was crying.
She did not know why.
But she felt lighter.
Freer.
Less alone.