This place is huge. Blacks and grays surround me from the wings as I stand in an open space, stage right. The mood is busy and focused. A crew of stagehands cross the black floor carrying chords and gear in preparation for an event – maybe a ceremony? The venue is flooded with light overhead – open and airy as if we are outside on a cloudy morning.
I think of the possibilities. Perhaps this is a graduation ceremony, or a time and place to honor a special individual. Maybe this will be the place of a great speech. Positivity is in the air. At least until I see… them.
Far beyond the stage, I witness evil “beings” like chess pieces taking their seats, lining up with anticipation for something I cannot even begin to imagine. These satanic creatures file one-by-one through an opening in a low brick wall of protection that resembles a jury box with two rows of three seats.
One of them is a rook, a little castle with glowing yellow eyes. It takes the front-row middle seat. Another is a man with a long black cloak. He lets the hood drape over his head casting shadows, dark as night, over his face. He stands over the third figure – what looks to be an atom, translucent with tiny lights swirling and moving around it in a knot.
The group is waiting patiently for the atom to finish forming in its place. They are nearly ready… but for what? Something satanic, something purely evil and sinister. I can feel it with all of my soul.
I look away before identifying the other three beings. I am too overwhelmed with rage and fear scanning the room for answers. They should NOT be here!
A man approaches and sits down before me with knees crossed on the floor, ready to talk about what they have planned. Wearing short-sleeves and a wide smile, his trimmed black hair and sideburns frame his face. His eyes are open and large with heavy eyebrows raised as if he is eagerly waiting for the answer to a question. He seems pretty excited and proud of himself.
Before he can utter any words, I openly scold him with a righteous rebuke that could cut with a sword.
“I know what you’re doing here! You’re not going to get away with this, and the POWER of GOD IN HEAVEN will rain FIRE upon you!”
I watch his pupils dilate like windows opening to reveal the black-hole within him. I take this as an invitation to reprimand his soul directly. He silently pulls back letting the silly smirk on his face turn over as words that I do not even recall ever having in my bones spew out of my mouth. Words of condemnation and wrath. By the frightened look on his face, I can tell that he has never heard these particular words before.
The rook, motionless and mute, looks at me from across the room.
Everyone looks. I know they hear me… but I will not be silenced. I shout louder so all of the creatures can hear about the coming judgement upon their heads!
Something shoves me out of the scene like a door slamming in my face. Everything disappears in a cloudy mist.
My eyes blink slowly and redirect me to a new place – a small, sunlit-white bedroom. I’m resting comfortably on a twin bed donned with fluffy white down comforters that cradle my body. It feels like a Saturday morning.
On the wall above my feet, there’s a non-working mahogany wall clock. It must be an antique – maybe mid 19th century. Clean white face, dark wood curves – I squint my eyes and try to make out the time, but for some reason, I just can’t grasp it. To my surprise and enjoyment, my dad walks through the door on the right and carefully takes the clock off the wall. He sits down beside me and turns it over.
“We’ve got to fix this thing. I’m resetting it to November 11.”
Holding its plug into a bowl of salt, he recharges the clock and sets the dial. Perfect.
On May 22, 2017, around 7 am PDT I awoke from this terrible nightmare with so many questions. The answers came later that evening. What I believe I witnessed was the evil preparation before the Manchester Arena bombing.
The days that followed were filled with sadness and grief. Seeing images of the perpetrator’s face still sends chills up my spine due to his strong resemblance to the man I scolded in the dream. The only consolation I feel after all of this is knowing that I tried my best to condemn the evil, but there’s only so much one can do while dreaming – even in a lucid state. In waking life, all we have is prayer.