From dreaming to waking to this...
Previous - this entry written on December 31, 2005 at 6:48 am - Next
A bizarre, complex society. Slavery was legal. Visible status was based on hair length. There were VERY few men, most breeding was done via a medical procedure and as you could thus choose the gender of your child, for some reason most people decided to have girls.
There were odd aliens involved as well, they had their own society but interacted with this one as well, quite nicely. Much of the reinstitution of slavery was, in fact, because the alien race kept slaves and humanity just kind of picked it up to fit in. If you offended someone whose hair was definitely longer than yours, they could demand to cut your hair, and get to do so, on the spot. In my dream I watched a woman holding the good eight inches of hair that had been cut off, crying, because she'd worked so long and so hard to grow it and now she would never be free, never have a hope of getting a mate, getting married, getting bonded, getting out of slavery. She was being overdramatic - hair DOES grow back - but it obviously affected her a lot. I woke up with my hands running through my own currently-painfully-short hair, swearing under my breath, having dreamed it got cut in an accident and that this would affect my status somehow.
Another random fragment - separate, but intense - the phrase 'I would stop in the middle of the street and beg to touch you'. Strange, the brief fractured world this phrase brought up. A story, told from the point of view of a man, a hunter of vampires. All sorts of vampires. And he's found one, who doesn't drink blood, doesn't kill her victims exactly, just... drains them emotionally, leaves them broken, shattered, useless. Most of them kill themselves a while after she leaves their lives. They try to keep her to stay, think they love her, know they need her presence to survive once she starts draining them, but she never stays. This hunter, he follows her for quite a while. Tracking her. Fascinated, he's never seen a vampire quite like her before, nothing so... intangible. He knows that if he kills her, she's unlikely to turn to dust, or stone, or salt, or ichor. That he'll have a body on his hands. He works himself up for days, getting to the point where he can, finally, bring himself to do it. He's got his journals all in order, names and dates listed, so anyone trying to arrest him will at least have some evidence of WHY he did what he did. All the suicides in her wake, all the people whose lives just... fell apart... at her touch.
He finally decides to do it. He's ready, eager even. He's been watching her for so long, waiting for this moment for so long, desperate to finish her off. He's felt... twinges. Odd shifts of emotion. He's pretty sure that even if she doesn't know he exists, that her natural feeding habits mean he's in danger, after this much time spent tracking her. He knows what she does. What she is.
He pulls out a little pistol. Points it at her back as she's walking down the street, streetlights and moonlight reflecting off the puddles of the day's rain. Doesn't make a sound. Nothing to warn her. She turns around anyway. Looks at him. Really looks AT him, INTO him, for the first time he is the focus of her gaze.
The gun is found later, unfired, in the grass beside the sidewalk.
She keeps him alive for a long time. When she finally finishes with him, she makes sure he can still remember that he had a chance to destroy her... that he failed. That no one will ever succeed. That he tried to kill her, and for that alone, he deserved everything she gave him, everything she did to him.
Yes, he kills himself. For once, she stays around to watch. Tells him, as he steps off the chair, feet kicking, choking, that every fifty years or so, someone finds out what she is. Tries to stop her.
Tells him, as he dies, that if they couldn't stop her back when caves were the only homes humans knew, that now, now when humanity is not used to preditors, doesn't know there IS anything to defend against, now no one will ever stop her. That when the race breathes its last, as he is doing, she will be there to feed on what humanity gives birth to. She will always win.
...I really wish I could get back to sleep. *shrug*
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