The Girl of Two Worlds

Where Dreams Rise

"Amihan, you don't have to do this."

Amihan couldn't tell who owned that voice – was it Selene, worried sick about her? Could it have been Juan? It was silly how he was the first one to want to go home, considering he recommended Raul to her. She could vaguely remember his pacing back and forth in that nipa hut, a stride she knew that meant he was very internally conflicted. That was the kind of person he was – someone who overthought too much but never putting his energy to action. Although, it also could have been Carlo who told her those words, but for some reason, she knew it wasn't him. She saw him look at her intensely before she gave Raul free rein over her mind and body, a meaningful gaze that somehow gave her the encouragement to do what she felt was right.

Then again, she'd never know. She was already in too deep into whatever Raul put her in. He made her lay onto a bed beside a window and made her drink a concoction that tasted and smelled funny. She could pinpoint the salt, vinegar, calamansi, lemongrass, and the malunggay, but that was all. She knew he put something else in her drink, but she didn't know what. All she knew was that it was weird, a bit disgusting, and it gave her a strange, looming feeling. As she waited for the effects to settle in, she stared at the night sky through the window and wondered if the stars were looking out for her.

Just one twinkle at a time, Amihan.

And now she was here, wherever here was. She was in a dream – dark, cold, and foggy - and yet, she knew she was awake somehow. She could still think. She could even see herself move her fingers and toes, and if she concentrated enough, she could hear her friends talking to her. Comforting her, maybe? Making sure she didn't lose her connection to the real world?

Whatever they were talking about, Amihan hoped that they weren't bickering, or worse, threatening Raul to wake her up. She was thankful that they were worried for her – that only meant they cared, and few people bothered to care for the dregs of society nowadays, especially for one like Amihan. However, at the same time, she hoped they would let her decide for herself how she would go about this. They didn't know what it felt like, to go to bed every day dreading to fall into that dark abyss where coldness and pain waited eagerly like vultures; to wake up with sharp needles piercing your head from every corner and angle. It was an awful, awful feeling. She even willed death to take her.

And that was even more horrible. It was shameful.

Therefore, she needed to know what was going on. She needed to talk to that voice and make it stop. force it to leave her alone and let her live in peace - even if that meant giving up the ability to dream once and for all.

And then it hit her.

Amihan felt heaviness in her chest, crawling to her throat up to the edges of her mind. It was painful, oh, so painful – the worst she ever experienced. It felt like her mind was being sawed and drilled open from both sides, a crescendo of agony she never thought was possible. She felt every inch of her skull being pressed from all corners, her muscles being stretched from all angles, her stomach recoiling. Compared to this, her painful headaches were child's play.

She tried thinking of something else to forget the pain – because surely, pain couldn't possibly be real when you were dreaming, right? She thought of her family – Cassandra and her worn-out teddy bear that she still loved beyond reason; Joseph and his devilish grin that was always a sign he was up to no good; her father's calloused hands that cradled her when she was young and vulnerable; and her mother's gentle voice that sung her to sleep when she was too afraid of hidden shadows. For a brief moment, they gave her strength, but it hurt to think. In fact, she felt even worse as the pain magnified ten times more, hitting her and slapping her and pushing her from every side.