It was my turn to come up with a prompt last week. The idea that came to me came from a couple of dreams shared by members of my dream group. I remembered a stirring when I listened to them describing climbing up to a dark, unfamiliar place, combined with dreams of my own when I need to climb past barriers—broken rungs, other gaps to cross. These triggered my curiosity, not knowing what’s up there or why I must reach the top.
Here’s the prompt: It starts as a dream. Struggling to climb a ladder, I reach the top and pull myself over the edge…
It took a moment to adjust my eyes. Had I come awake in a dream? Or was I dreaming of waking in a dream?
Slowly I perceived lights in the distance. It seemed like an attic, or barn, but it went on and on, if I could judge by flickering glows far off. Dare I go farther?
I pulled myself over the sill, which felt incredibly hard, just as things do sometimes in dreams. I crossed a first dark area and came to where the ceiling was higher. Though shadowy, I made out figures. Were they practicing a play? They wore costumes.
Someone turned my way and I ducked out of sight, peering from behind a partition. “Come.” A woman gestured. She’d seen me!
Cautiously I stepped into sight, heart hammering. A man pushed back a strange, leering mask and appraised me.
“I’m not sure where I am,” I stammered. “I’m sorry if I intruded.”
They all faced me now. More costumed people approached from beyond and all stood facing me.
“Not many get this far.” The woman wore layers of dresses and skirts. Her face was made up with exaggerated red circles on her cheek bones. She had her hair up in two high ponytails.
“What do you mean got this far?” I asked.
“Well, where did you come from?” a man dressed like a gaucho asked.
“To tell the truth, I only remember dreaming…” I laughed awkwardly.
“Where were you in the dream?” another in pinstriped suit inquired.
“I…I don’t remember my dream before this.”
They took this in, glancing sidelong at each other.
“Well, I think you’re meant to be Fey-du,” the woman stated as she began digging in a chest. There were murmurs of agreement as she pulled out a sumptuous suit made of satins and velvets. From atop an old dresser, she lifted a mask with high bouffant hair. It looked wicked, and drew me.
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Marie Judson 