A Butterfly's Dream

“Take a long walk
Off a short pier.
That’s what I told you
Oh so long ago.
I meant it then,
And I mean it now.
Yet, you still come
And play with my feelings,
My emotions.
You came,
You play,
You leave,
You hurt.

“Take a long walk
Off a short pier.
It seems to have…
Less of a biting edge now.
Even as you love another,
I feel the pain of watching.
I watch as you love her,
I watch as you play and flirt,
I watch as you feel for her
And wonder if…maybe
I will find someone
To fill my heart.
Even as it echoes quietly.

“Take a long walk
Off a short pier.
It seems to be…
Only a whisper in the dark
Even as I hurt and bleed.
Watching as you love another.

“Take a long walk
Off a short pier
Is nothing more
Than nothing a whisper in the dark,
A whisper in my memories,
Even as I die
A small death.
Even as the sadness
Eats at my heart and soul

It was late, that much he knows. It was late and he has school in the morning, but at the moment, he doesn’t care. He has to find out about this girl. He had to. If somehow this Catrina is connected to his family in some way…then why hasn’t he ever heard of her? Why has his family never spoken of a family member that had been attacked?

Was that why they didn’t, because of the attack? Or was it because she was a stain on the family’s name because she had a girlfriend?

It was all so very confusing to him and so he wanted to read what Clary had found him. The first thing he read was several articles that she had written for her school newspaper. They were well informed and written, even if a few were on the fashions of the day and what color went well with what dance dress.

He moved onto other bits of things that she had written. Apparently she had been published in several small magazines, pamphlets, and alternate newspapers. Most of her writings were sad, or dark. But some…were happy in sound. He found one that hit him the hardest though, with the way that it was worded.

“Tears flowing freely…Blood leaving slowly…Heart breaking quickly…You leaving forever,” sounds out into the room, a shiver of anticipation slipping down his back before he shook his head. Moving to the comments about that bit, he sees that it was originally well received and had been awarded a small prize.

One of the poems made him cover up his snort, even as it made him see another facet of Catrinas personality.

“Take a long walk off a short pier. That’s what I told you oh so long ago. I meant it then, and I mean it now. Yet, you still come and play with my feelings, my emotions. You came, you play, you leave, you hurt.

“Take a long walk off a short pier. It seems to have…less of a biting edge now. Even as you love another, I feel the pain of watching. I watch as you love her, I watch as you play and flirt, I watch as you feel for her and wonder if…maybe I will find someone to fill my heart. Even as it echoes quietly.

“Take a long walk off a short pier. It seems to be…only a whisper in the dark even as I hurt and bleed. Watching as you love another.

“Take a long walk off a short pier is nothing more than nothing a whisper in the dark,
a whisper in my memories, even as I die a small death. Even as the sadness eats at my heart and soul,” David reads softly. Reaching up he wipes at his eyes, trying to figure out why his eyes would turn bleary like that. Pulling his fingers away, he stares at the wetness on the tips and smiles sadly to himself. “So…apparently she was as sad as I can be, huh?”

The question remained unanswered in the softly lit room. Shaking his head, he grabs a tissue and wipes his eyes before leaning forward and continuing to read. He finds a few more articles that she had written, including a few more poems, all of them getting sadder, before suddenly taking a turn into the happier side of things.

Leaning back after he reads one last poem, David scrubs his eyes before checking the clock. Groaning softly, he stands up as he shuts off his computer. Flipping the screen off, he moves towards his bed. Sliding in, his mind busy with the thoughts of Catrina and what could have caused her to be so sad, then suddenly so happy, he turns his light off and pulls his blankets up and over him.

Yawning once more, he falls asleep quickly, his eyes missing the single shadow that moved to his bed. He falls asleep so quickly, he missed the glimmer of silver around a pale neck as an equally pale hand reaches out and smoothes his hair down.

Shifting in his bed, Clary sat up suddenly, breathing heavily, sweat running down his face as he blinked several times into the darkness around him. Wincing as his leg shifted in the wrong direction, he shifted his entire body, before settling back against his head board, sighing in pleasure as the pain disappated.

“What a fucked up dream,” he mutters softly, reaching over and tapping the base of his lamp once, a soft light chasing the darkness away. Looking over at his alarm clock, he snorted at the 3 and two zeros that glared red back at him. “Great,” he says, picking up his cup of water and sipping it, wondering if his mother was up doing one of her night time wanders again. Shaking his head, he puts his cup down again and grabbed a note book from the drawer, settling down to write.

Another night, another dream. They continue to come to me, even when I drink my mother’s tea, which has always kept such dreams at bay. I’m starting to worry about my sanity, and my identity. I keep dreaming of the man named Alex. I believe he is the same Pastor that David asked me to check up on.

But if it is so, why do I dream of him? And why do I dream a different dream each time?

Let’s start with the dreams first. As always, from my perspective, as if I’m watching this. I don’t want to remember that I dreamed that I was this man…it makes my skin feel slimy. Nevertheless, here goes –

The candles flickered around him as he swept into the room, his eyes troubled and dark. He had just got done hearing confessions, something that wasn’t what a Christian Pastor usually did, but rather more suited for a Catholic Priest. But that’s how his church was set up. It was a time for what the followers of the church thought of as cleansing their souls. But it all truth, it was much more then that.

It was a time to gather information on the people who attended the church. And he learned so much during those times.

Smirking softly as he thought of the last confession that he had heard, the little girl talking about how her mother was cheating on ‘daddy with mommy’s double’ was just so good. It would work well to get what he wanted from that family. He needed the very special vase that they had sitting in their home. It was to be a very crucial part of the ceremony. But…should they not give it over, he would need his lord’s permission to take it by force.

Sighing softly, he lights a few more candles, the flames burning black and throwing a dark light over his face as he steps into a circle made from sand.

“I call to you, dark one. Hear my plea and answer it now,” he calls out softly, his hair rising a bit in an invisible wind. Kneeling down in the center, he slices the palm of his hand, letting a bit of blood drip into a bowl on the ground, soaking the sand and turning it pink in color. “Come to me - your loyal servant. We have much to discuss.”

A cold wind whips around him, picking the sand up before forming into a dark shape standing before him. It was vaguely human in shape, but more skeletal in appearance, ribs and skull showing and was made completely out of the sand that surrounded both of them. The eye sockets glowed with a black fire as it stared at the kneeling man in front of it.

“You call me so soon?” the shape hisses, his voice oily, slick. Pastor Alex bows, pressing close to the ground.

“Forgive me, my lord. But it seems that I have found the vase that you require, and I think I have the best information to use against them,” he whimpers, knowing that he was in trouble but hoping to get out of it.

“So tell me what news you have for me,” the being says, moving towards a chair being molded out of the shadows in the room. Sitting down, it turns its dark eyes towards Alex who sat up onto his heels, eyes down on the floor. Settling back, it sneers slightly as Alex starts to speak.

“It seems that the mother is in an incestuous relationship with her twin brother. The child has caught them several times apparently,” the man says, his eyes staring at the pink sand that was still on the ground, grounding the being to this reality. “The mother has also confessed that the child isn’t the supposed fathers’ child, but rather her brother’s. It seems that she got pregnant with the child soon after getting married to her husband. I think I can use this into blackmailing the wife into giving us the vase.”

“And why would she do this? She could very well go to the human police and tell them that you are an extortion artist,” the being says, his voice taking on a more hissing quality.

“Because should it be found out that the mother cheated on her husband, she would lose everything, including the child and money that the child has in her name,” Alex replies. “She may not love her husband, but she loves the money that he has from owning such an expensive restaurant.”

“I see,” it hums in thought, settling back and watching Alex tries not to twitch as bits of the shadows around them, reach out and stroke over his back and sides. “Use the information, but should things not work out, kill the family before they are able to do anything. Keep their souls. They may prove useful,” it finally says, standing up and moving towards the other, the shadows licking at his feet. “For now, I take my leave. Do not disappoint me. You remember the last time…”

Alex shudders softly at the reminder and nods. Sand was so hard to get out of torn flesh.

“Yes, my lord. I will do exactly as you command,” he mummers as he watches a bit of shadow smear the blood-soaked sand into nothing, causing the being in front of him to collapse into a pile of sand. “I will not disappoint you. Even if I have to find a damn gypsy to make it up to you,” he mutters, standing up and heading out the door, flames being extinguished as he walks.


That’s about the time I awoke. It raises so many questions. It makes me wonder, if my dreams are true, why am I the one getting them?

Why hasn’t anyone discovered why he is holding confessions yet? I can’t help but wonder about that the most. A Christian church is not one to believe in confession, considering it an invasion of privacy, or so my research has found.

So why does no one think to look deeper than what he presents? Why?

And who is his lord? Is it the evil that most know as Satan? Or is it something darker, deeper? Something that humans have forgotten through the ages of time? Something that was suppressed in the hopes that it would never darken the doorsteps of mankind again?

And if so, it seems that it’s backfiring. Looks like I get to do some more research. Perhaps….I should warn David about his pastor.

But what could he do against the man? Would the knowledge put him in the way of harm?

Why does that very thought terrify me in a way nothing else ever has? Why does it make my breath shorten and my chest tighten? Why does it make my hand shake, forcing it all over the page as I write these words? Why?

Is there something more going on than I know? Is there something within me and my heart that I can’t understand?

I can’t help but wonder why this is happening now. Why for this boy who I barely know? Why for someone I barely see? Why for this dark haired teenager who is probably straight as a ruler? Why now of all times?

Is it more…than what I can comprehend? Is there a reason behind this attraction? Is it destined to be by the gods? Or is it simple teenage hormones?

And why the hell am I contemplating this at 3 in the morning?!


Sighing softly, Clary idly scratches the top of his head with the tip of his pen before setting it and the note book aside, making sure that it was closed. Looking up, he smiles softly as his mother peeks in through the crack and smiles gently at him.

“Hello, sweet one. What are you doing up?” she asks softly, so as to not disturb the rest of the house. Clary shakes his head slightly and relaxes back into his pillows.

“Dream,” he says in reply, just as softly. She cocks her head to the side and studies him closely.

“Prophetic, vision or just a plain dream?” she finally asks. Clary once more shakes his head.

“I can never keep anything from you, can I, mother?” he asks gently, letting his head tilt back to rest against the head board. “In all truth, I have no idea. It…may or not be a vision…but yet it has the potential to be a prophetic dream. Or it just might me my over active imagination combined with the drugs that I take,” he says, his voice soft and hazy.

“The answer will come in time, child. For now, do you want some tea to help you sleep for the rest of the night?” his mother asks, already thinking deeply. He tilts his head back up and nods, dark eyes meeting dark eyes in understanding. “I’ll be right back,” she says.

It wasn’t very much later that he was under the covers once more, blankets pulled close and leg propped up as the tea worked its magic.

As he slipped off into sleep, he saw a shape and a flash of blond hair catching the moonlight streaming in through the window.

He brushes it off as the tea mixing with the medication, even as he watches the shape smile sadly and a single tear run down the cheek of what looked to be a young woman.