November 7th – The Dream of All Dreams
Inspired by here
All Dreams was wise. They all agreed on that. Although she was young, her voice was one they listened to: all of them. They spoke their fears to her; their hopes, their dreams, even. And All Dreams would listen to their words, before she slept.
Truth came to All Dreams while she slept.
Their life was simple: they moved with the seasons, followed the shadow of the sun and moon through day and night, and listened to the rhythms of the tides. And All Dreams was with them, speaking truths.
There had always been an All Dreams, as long as there had been time. When it was her time she dreamt the next, and the next would come to her and be given her secrets. This was the way it was, and the way it had always been. All Dreams was trust, and hope, and truth.
They had never seen All Dreams cry.
When they woke that morning, they woke to a sound they had never heard before. Women, children, men, even, followed the sound to All Dreams’ shelter. She was sitting outside, looking at the sky, her face wet with tears.
They stopped in front of her, each daring the other to speak. Finally one voice broke the silence.
“Tell us,” the voice said, “tell us the dream of All Dreams.”
And All Dreams gave words to the shapes she had dreamt. Boats unlike those they had ever known, pushed forward on an angry wind. White skin and metal faces, and screams, and blood.
“They’re coming,” she said. “It’s time to go.”