A short story from my old blog about an experience I had in a dream, a taste of what’s to come.
May 6, 2011
We fought with heat, and they with cold. Our passionate, human rage; our love and our deep, burning fire – weakened as they were by the soul exchange and from the long, fevered chase – were futile against the overbearing numbness and foreign chill of the army we were against.
To say we lost is too kind, neigh we were slaughtered. And if you were to guess the arrows stung you would be mistaken; they paralysed in a second. The piercing chill of their touch consumed us with such speed that just one would have sufficed. It was only for their heavy-handedness and lack of discipline that we were each afforded two.
They would have to take us to London now, where we would finally be stripped of these bodily restraints. The two of us would be set free – or as close to it as our soul scarring allowed – to ride our cart forevermore down the tree lined lanes of the country where we grew.
P.S. I didn’t think you were supposed to be able to die in your dreams. Or maybe because of the soul-exchange it wasn’t really my character that died.