metaphor

In my dream, Sandy and I were part of a large community of people who were moving from one homeland to another, thousands of people wending peacefully through the countryside.

Suddenly, we were attacked by pseudo-people wearing red. (In my dream, I knew they were some kind of synthetic creatures; I had no qualms about their deaths.) Their arrows flew over a ridge, killing and wounding our people. We took to ground, Sandy near me, her arm touching mine. The attack continued, and we got separated, a little distance apart. There was a lull in fighting. People on our side, unarmed, lay still, waiting a long time, and started to fall asleep. I started to fall asleep, and I shook myself awake, wondering how we'd know when it was safe to move. I saw a few of our enemies peeking over the hill, yelled "Incoming" just as the first arrows flew, and I lifted books and notebooks in front of my head as a shield. Then the enemies themselves were following their arrows into the midst of us, attacking from close range.

What seemed a shower of arrows came next, and Sandy had been knocked somehow. I saw her tumble through the air with the arrows. She landed quite a distance from me, apparently unharmed but unable to get to me. I wasn't even sure she knew where I was.

I saw a route out and retreated. I turned to call to Sandy, but feared drawing attention to either of us. I left the battlefield, hearing cries of a dead king's name and "Our cause is lost." I continued back through throngs and throngs of people who were all going about daily life in makeshift settlements, waiting to move forward, people who had no idea what was happening in the front lines.

I found my way to a room where wounded were cared for, felt guilty taking up space there. I felt cowardly, but also defenseless. And I couldn't do anything for Sandy. I could only hope that she could find her way back to me. But I had to think about my own life.

I woke terrified: afraid that I would be attacked, but more that I wouldn't see Sandy again. I turned to press myself against her for reassurance, as I always have when a nightmare wakes me. But she wasn't there.

Even as I woke, I thought the dream's metaphor was apt. We were on a journey through life together, attacked, survived, enjoyed a lull that left us off guard, and then a sneak attack separated us. And now I have to focus on my own life, even while I hope that she can somehow find her way back to me.