The Dreaming: Dark Star (Book 5)

16.1. Reunion (Old Shalon)

I'm dreaming. My body fills with excitement as I sink into this familiar feeling. It's been a very long time. It feels so good.

When I open my dream eyes for the first time I'm in the dark. The darkness that births life.

Far in the distance, a pinpoint of light arrives — a small speck of light on the horizon.

Suddenly I'm in a room. A vast room. There is a mirror on the table in front of me.

I pick up the mirror, and see an old woman staring back at me. I'm confused.

She smiles at me with sympathy. "You poor thing, she says."

"Who are you?" I ask her.

"I am you," she answers.

"You're not me," I deny. "I don't..." I forget what else I was going to say, as my attention is riveted by this old woman staring back at me. She seems so familiar. It's not my mother, or my grandmother. "Who are you!?" I demand again.

"I told you, I'm you — I'm your future self."

My future self? This woman is so old; she's ancient. She doesn't resemble me... or does she? I look more closely.

"Here, look, let me show you what I see," she says.

Suddenly I'm on the other side of the mirror, and I'm staring at myself; it's me at the age of thirty, but seen through someone else's eyes.

I'm absolutely beautiful. Radiant, glowing with potential. I'm also very ignorant and confused, still just a kid, really.

The perspective starts to shift my awareness — thoughts, memories, feelings that I don't want. I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to get back to myself, to the me who I'm familiar with, who I enjoy. "Go away, out of my head!" I yell at her.

I open my eyes and there she is, again, in front of me, in the mirror. "Who are you?" I ask her again. "And what do you want with me?"

"I told you — I'm your future self."

I take a deep breath. It doesn't make any sense, but I'm dreaming, so maybe I've made all of this up. Maybe it's all just a representation of my subconscious mind. I will the mirror and the old woman away.

The woman throws her hands up in the air in frustration. "No, you don't!" she yells, grabbing my arm. "This is real!" she exclaims. "I'm not a manifestation of your latent content, YOU'RE a manifestation of your latent content! I'm real. This is real. You're the one who's a fake!"

I frown at her, and begin to back away. There is something wrong here. This woman is giving me the creeps. I feel the hair on my arms rise in gooseflesh. I close my eyes, willing myself away from this place, away from this woman.

"Oh no you don't!" she yells. "You're staying right here. We're finishing this right now."

I'm stuck. I can't move.

"Yes, exactly! You're stuck!" she says, listening to my thoughts. "You're stuck in your thirty-year-old self. Here let me show you," she whispers.

I close my eyes and when I open them, I am her.

I can feel my body has lost its capacity, its strength, the ability to hold my spine straight. I feel myself shrink, sinking four, five, six inches. I look down at my hands and they are wrinkled — there are age spots on the back of my hands. My fingers are skinny with large, bulbous joints that ache. My right knee aches, my back is tired. My hip is sending a shooting pain down my leg. I want to sit down.