The Torments of a Dream Catcher

 She shook her head, remembering those harsh words muttered by Death himself: “What-” he grimaced eyeing her curiously; at least from what she could tell; it’s hard to read into a bare-boned face, “You thought, like many greedy souls that death was a way out of your pitiful existence?” Death laughed, the sound ripping through the silence like nails on a chalkboard.

She raised her finger and chanced to speak, but recoiled under his stare. She somehow knew that no words and no action would change this fate. So, there isn’t a God, she thought to herself.

“Welcome to purgatory, My Dear,” he gestured around himself in grandeur, “It is here you will pay off your debts and learn a valuable lesson and aid others in their tormented existence.”

Well, her brain rattled, that answers that question. She glanced around as the scenery changed to one of darkness.

It was with that he vanished and another young and banished soul stood beside her. She didn’t know him, but his pitiful, empty expression matched her own. She didn’t know why or how, but she knew he was to be her companion.

“Welcome, Dream Catcher.” Death’s voice rattled in her head as she pulled on her cloak, the only article of clothing allotted to her. It covered her scars and the body she hated; thus, she hardly minded the otherwise hideous item.

She felt his presence before he stood in front of her and; gathering herself, she looked up at her companion, her face shadowed out and sunken in. Dark circles had formed around her eyes from her many sleepless nights.

She was tormented like many of the souls she encountered in her work. Still, she went about her work quietly and with an ease that surprised her companion. She had a quick and painless way of completing the job, her hands moving quickly along the thin wire, untangling it in small chunks as she went, her hands moving with minds of their own as she sang sweet songs in a worn, tired, and gravelly voice.

Tonight’s job was in a women's shelter. He didn't look at her, but he could sense her tears as she pulled out her bag and collected the wires from each of the many dream catchers, replacing them in moments. She sighed, she could see their torments.

The children were the worst. She would cry as she worked, her eyes like faucets releasing all the water from her small, cloaked body. She hung the catchers at their heads, singing them lullaby after lullaby. "To rid them of their torments." she would say, knowing full-well they couldn’t see or hear her.

Her companion would watch her silently, never a word and never stirring. He didn't sing along, but he knew all the words. He just watched as she removed and replaced each wire.

She looked at the boy in front of her and kissed his head, he didn't have a catcher. "He is tormented." She said laying a hand on the boy's chest her ears ringing, "As I am, as she is,” she pointed to the young girl across the way, a momentary look of despair crossing her features, “as is my destiny."

A tear slipped from her face and onto the boy’s cheek as she placed a fresh catcher above his head and replaced his wire. She leaned down and whispered in his ear, just loud enough that her companion could hear. "Promise me you won't give up." Her breath was heavy and shallow as she continued to cry, tears fell like rain onto the little boy's skin. "It only gets worse if you give up."

She believed that because she knew, but it was a hollow warning.

Her companion looked at her and again didn't stir. He didn't tell her that the boy couldn't hear her. He didn't tell her that this would only make their job take longer. He didn't tell her that they needed to finish and sleep; they didn’t sleep. He didn't say anything because anything he told her she already knew. He knew somehow, and without a shadow of doubt that he couldn’t help her with her tasking.

Finally finishing, she looked away from the boy towards her companion and nodded, standing up slowly from the bedside.

He knew better than to question her methods. So again he watched her. That was his job. Guide and watch.

She moved on to the young girl, her hands reaching for the dream catcher above her head automatically and more so for the wire, where the torments were “trapped”. As she did, her sleeve fell, but nobody was there to comment so, ignoring the chills and lines that adorned it, she carried on.

Her ears began to ring louder than with the boy before and behind her eyes flashed scenes of pain caused by yelling and by hurt at a man’s hands. More scenes played: scenes of blood; her body a road-map displaying each struggle as a jagged, bloody line, a burn, a momentary sacrifice of value and dignity.

Each knot undone brought wave upon wave of nauseating scenes of hurt and torment to the Dream Catcher. Still, her hands worked, while her eyes leaked compassion.

Her companion, only guiding, would never see what she saw. He would never have to understand. She envied him.

She placed the wire in her bag and replaced it with one new and fresh. Her hands speeding along as the scenes left her.

She closed her bag and looked out the window to the next house."I'm ready." she said, she pulled the sleeves down again, her face covered once by her cloak hood.

He nodded, jumping from the window sill to the roof of the next house. It was their silent code that said everything from "don't worry" to "I'm ready" to "I understand." And this time it meant he understood. He understood her best. He understood and knew in his heart the one thing she never said aloud. She hated her job.