The Secret Griefs of Wild, Unknown Men (16)


She’d had the same dream for the 12th night in a row. It was of her mother, her mother’s mother, and a hundred other women that she’d never seen before who all looked like her, sitting on top of the water. These beautiful, loving souls all held hands, all smiled, all laughed as the sky grew closer and closer. Below them, submerged in the water, a great beast surrounded by a hundred other beasts looked up in great sorrow, as a woman (who she didn’t recognize) swam from beast to beast, ripping the bones from their torsos and slaying the beautiful creatures with great pleasure. With each kill, she looked to the family of women, seeking approval. But the hundred women who sat on the water did not understand this violence. Why would this woman kill such sad and beautiful creatures? Suddenly, she became doubtful as to whether or not this great hunter of beasts was a woman at all, noticing it’s masculine posture and deep voice growling with pleasure as the beasts were slain. Now, only two beasts remained: the great beast and one smaller beast, which seemed to be growing steadily with every breath it took. The warrior stared up into the eyes of the Modern Woman with a gaze so disturbingly deep and trusting that the Modern Woman gasped herself into waking. She was in her bed, in her cabin, in the woods, covered in her own sweat.

“No need to be afraid,” hummed the Kind Man, who stood at the top of the stairs, “your dreams are good dreams”.

And with a smile, the Kind Man descended the stairs and exited the cabin.

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