Dream: Cloven Flesh 7/25/23.

The infection had spread to the entire crew. Stranded in space, we didn’t really have much of an option. We stopped by a small merchant station orbiting a star cluster. I checked what they had in store. “Hmm. I could replace my sick crew with new healthy ones, but what if they get sick too?” I was reading through the registry of available crewmates for hire. 30 credits for a rockman, 25 for a mantid, 45 for a cyborg. Wait, what’s this? 5 credits for a mite? I place my finger on the section where it says “Race: Mite.” A tag opens up to describe the species. Mites can produce more of themselves from the corpses of dead non-mite crewmates. When you send a boarding party to an hostile ship, one mite will always stay behind on your ship to repopulate if the others don’t return. Interesting. But instead of replacing my crew, I’d much rather help them fight off the infection. So I check the professions and skills of the available crew for hire. I search , arranged by medical ability. I find a highly rated professional that deals in infections and flesh wounds. This is perfect for my situation since the crew is infected with open sores and dark splotches all over their skin. And blood seeps from their pores. I found a Cleaver (Flesh). I hire him for an exuberant 250 credits. It’s far more expensive than any other crewmate I’ve hired, but medical professionals are a luxury when you’re so far from civilization.

Cleaver enters the quarantine zone. He wears a black suit and slacks. He doesn’t wear gloves or a mask. He seems quite unconcerned with being infected by whatever is hurting the crew. He asks me about the crew and their malady. “The infection covers their entire body, correct?” He asks. I respond affirmatively. Confirming his observation. “In that case, let’s say this one here is about 5 foot tall. If I were to then graft new flesh to him, adding to his height an additional 3 feet. The infection would still only be 5 feet tall on his body, but would eventually spread to the entire 8 feet.” I am confused by this assertion, but I acknowledge that it must be true. The new flesh isn’t infected yet. Then he continues his line of reasoning. “Likewise, if I were to reduce his height to 3 feet, the infection would only spread to his 3 feet of height. Yes?” He asks. I nod, unsure where he is going with this. The medical practitioner smiles. “Then the solution is simple. I must first reduce their height by cutting off their legs. Thus, a 5 foot tall man may be reduced to around 3 feet tall. Then I add to their height by grafting the legs back to the hip with a 3-foot-long board between, adding a total 3 feet in height. Thus, a 5 foot tall man will become 8 feet tall and only have 3 feet of infection. This will make the disease much easier to remove.” I smile and nod, though inwardly fear that I can’t follow his jumps in logic. But he is the professional when it comes to medicine, so I trust his judgment.

The medical cleaver takes out a bonesaw and cleaves off a crewmate’s leg at the knee. Then he places a 3-foot wooden plank between the stump and the dismembered leg. Then he nails the plank to the bone. Then he begins to scrape off infected splotches of skin and piling the putrid meat into a rusty iron bucket. Eventually, he deems the subject clear of infection. He orders the subject to take a shower and quarantine himself away from the rest of the infected so he doesn’t become recontaminated. The subject nods and crawls away to do as asked. The cleaver stands up and looks around. “Who’s next?”

“I’ll be next.” I say. The cleaver looks at me in confusion. “But you’re not infected.” He says. I lean down and roll up the sleeve of my pants. Open sores, dark splotches, and dripping blood. “Ah, so it hasn’t spread throughout your entire body yet. Good. That’ll make it easier.” I lay down while he works. He shears off my legs at the knee, then he nails a wooden plank, reattaching my leg with a 3 foot board between my leg and my knee. He scrapes out to infected flesh and I crawl to the bathroom to shower. I wash off the blood. My legs are nearly skeletal after all the flesh he’s scooped out. I can see my bones. I wash and stringy tissue swirls in the red water down the drain. My mind swirls. My mind is fuzzy. My thinking grows weary. The infection should be gone now. But I feel a sinister presence. I grow delirious. “I have to save my crew. The infection. The infection must be stopped!” I mumble to myself, “There must be a sacrifice. Someone must die to satisfy its hunger.” I flop on the floor of the bathroom.

I hear a knock at the bathroom door. “Captain? Are you in there?” I gurgle in response. Concerned, the voice beckons for an answer. I froth at the mouth. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’m coming in.” He bursts through the door and gasps in horror at my appearance. “Captain, are you okay?” I roll on the floor, and grab the shelves for support. I rise to my feet, unsteadily standing on numb legs. I tower above the crewmate with 3-foot planks increasing my height, making me walk like on stilts. “Sir, are you well?”

“The festering hunger must be appeased.” I slur, groggily. I fall upon the man, and dig a knife into his shoulder. He cries out in pain and struggles. But I have the upperhand and tear at him until he stops moving. “I have done it. I have saved them.” I whisper.

I don’t remember much else from the dream. But I’m the swirling fog of my memory, I know I was a princess, I think? I traveled through a deserted wasteland until I found a knight in a medieval ruin of black stone. I urged the man plate armor to join me on my quest. He joined eagerly at first, but as we faced greater and trials and obstacles, his determination wavered. Finally, we had slain a four-armed demon that stands on two hind legs with cloven hooves, and it had a bull’s head with glowing red eyes. Wounded and angry, the knight swore he had had enough of this suicide mission. He sauntered back the path we had come, intent on returning home. I was sorely disappointed but nothing I could say would sway him. Still, I couldn’t abandon my mission, so I continued onwards. I slew floating balloons with barbed tentacles trailing down beneath them. I faced many such mind-crushing monsters, which is probably why it is so hard to remember any details. It seems it was a montage scene again.

It was night. I stood on the coastline, overlooking the ocean. The crescent moon reflected on the waves. A toppled lighthouse of black stone lay on an outcropping of land towards the sea. I wondered if I would ever succeed in my quest. I looked up at the stars and asked if I should continue or give up. The stars twinkled in reply. I asked them to clarify because I don’t understand what twinkling means. The stars continue to twinkle. Disappointed, I look back down at the shore. I frown, the shore is all black stone. It used to be sand. I turn my head about and find that all the landscape around me was now black stone. The sea itself was frozen mid-motion in black stone. I looked up at the stars in confusion. A darkness spread across the moon as it too became black stone. No longer reflecting as much light, I was left with nothing but the stars as my guide. The world around me shifted. I felt weightless. The black stone beneath me ripples and twists. It takes the form of a massive rectangular pit. I look down and find a ballroom, but everything is made of black stone. There are several people at this ball, they are statues of black stone. But they move as though alive. The entire performance is eerily silent, not even the sound of footsteps as they dance. I gasp. I recognize the knight that had previously accompanied me on my adventures. He too is a living statue of black stone.

The pit, the room, and everything inside it shrinks, but as it does so, adjoining rooms form. Soon a black stone mansion lies before me, a mini mansion, like that of a doll house. I see a black stone road leading to the mansion, and as it all continues to shrink, I recognize some landmarks. That mountain is where we slew the peryton. And that ever is where the knight nearly drowned. So if we follow this path… I know where the mansion is. The mansion disappears. I blink. I’m staring at sand. The world has returned to normal. I thank the stars for their aid and head down a path.

The mansion is indeed quite spacious. The scale-model of it didn’t really do it justice. It is not made of black stone. Now that I am here in-person, I see the eloquent design and clever combination of color overlapping the walls. The guards at the front gate ask my name and examine a clipboard to see if my name matches. I do not give them a name. I walk past them, through their crossed polearms and bust open the door. They cry out in alarm and grab my arm to pull me away, but they’re not strong enough. I continue walking, dragging them along for a few feet before they lose their grip and fall to the ground. They are hesitant to use their weapons. I may be breaking in, but they don’t want to kill me. Dancing nobles gasp at my arrival and more guards file in from the hallway to stop me. I continue forwards, pushing aside guards, nobles, and servants. Anyone who is unfortunate enough to stand in my path. A guard stands in front of me, bracing for impact, his halberd pointed towards me. I push the weapon aside to avoid impaling myself. Now the guards no longer hesitate.

Their polearms rip through my skin but clang hollow on something solid. The slashes in my skin reveal ridges of black armor beneath. The guards strike again and again, but my armor is all but impenetrable. The attack does tear off quite a bit of my skin, exposing much of my armor. I push through crowds to the ballroom. There I find the knight sitting at a table in full plate armor. I stride towards him, guards trailing after me. He jumps in his seat in startlement. He stares at me in bewilderment. “I thought you said you were a princess.” He says, face white with shock. I frown, uncertain what he is trying to say. “I am a princess.” I respond, “What makes you doubt my claim?”

A glaive slashes the back of my head, chopping heaps of hair to the ground, splitting a gash open in my head, revealing the black ridged armor beneath the skin. “I was imagining… a human princess.” The knight admits. I tilt my head, quizzically. “You don’t think I’m a princess because you don’t think I’m human.” I say, “But why don’t you think I’m human?” The knight just shrugs. A guard comes between me and the knight. The guard thrusts his shortsword into my eye. The blade goes only about an inch before it slides against ridged armor. He loses his grip on the hilt, and I knock the sword from his hands. The guard flees. The knight raises his eyebrows. “Um, Princess. Your eye?” He says. I pat the smooth bulbous segmented armor beneath the open wound where my eye used to be. I can see fine through the armor.

“My eye is fine.” I say, “They can’t get past my armor.” He nods. However, I’m not done. “Sir Edwin, do you know what my quest is?” I ask. He frowns. “To kill monsters?” He guesses.

I shake my head disapprovingly. “No. My quest is…”

[When I woke up, this was the part I remembered. This was the part I wanted to write down. So I climbed down from the ladder of my bunk bed and gingerly stepped through the dark halls, bringing my phone to the living room, so I could write it down. But by the time I opened up Google Docs, my mind was blank. I couldn’t remember a single thing about the dream. Since then, I have been able to remember much of the dream. But the last parts of the dream are missing.]

I leave the mansion, bodies strewn behind me. Blood cakes the walls, and arms and legs are scattered on the floor. I no longer look like the princess from when I began my quest. I have a monstrous appearance. I wear no armor, but rather am coated with a black chitin-plating. I have a distinct goal in mind. My next target: the vampire who owns this mansion. I’ll find him and bring him to ruin.