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Within the shadow of dreams
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
This story is another from the archives, and is not written by me.
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage
From: blaze@apple.com (Suki)
Subject: STORY: Within The Shadow Of Dreams
Date: Wed, 14 Apr 1993 07:36:19 GMT
Hi Ya'all,
This story requires a disclaimer and an explanation. First, the
disclaimer: There is no sex, B&D, or S&M in this story. There is however, an
intense amount of mind-play.
But not the type of mind play you might be thinking of. Let me
explain. I wrote this story because I had intense anger, and no way to
channel it. Lasher suggested I channel it into writing. Although I had never
done that, I figured I would try and probably just do one of my normal
journal entries. Instead, what sprang to mind is a story.
Since a large portion of the story is real, I received permission before
posting this. It is also the first story I will ever bother to physically
copyright, instead of simply using the implicit copyright (which is: I wrote
it, therefore I own it, and have no need to spell that out).
Finally, an authoress's note: Some people really believe in out of body
experiences. That is, you can visit people in your dreams and enter into
theirs. To a degree, I _do_ believe and I truly wish I had that power.
-Suki
Within The Shadows Of Dreams
by Suki
The more I heard, the more I hated him. He represented everything I
fought against, and I had seen too many victims of people like him. Scarred,
mutilated, broken... some on the outside, but most of the damage within....
He married her when she was young. Fourteen, still a child herself.
By fifteen she had a nine month old baby, a girl, their first child.
By the time his daughter was eight years old, he was already taking
out his anger and frustrations on her. His daughter. His flesh and blood.
Beating her, kicking her, yelling.....
His wife became pregnant again and the beating on his child became
worse. He never hit is wife, his daughter saw to that. Because by eight
years old she was smart enough to see if her father was beginning to focus
his anger on his wife, and refocus it on her. She took the beatings on
herself. And the older she grew, the worse they became.
He cracked her ribs. He kicked her down flights of stairs. He beat he
until he was exhausted. This continued while three more children were born.
By age fourteen his first born daughter was reacting like many
victims of abuse. She was out of control. Drugs, alcohol, pulling dangerous
stunts.... a hell-raiser. Having trouble with her self-esteem, being raised by
an abusive father and molested for several years by various uncles, she got
her anger out in the only way she had learned... on herself.
By age sixteen she had gotten her life together. Partially because she
wanted too, and partially because she had no choice. Her mother was an
alcoholic, and the burden of raising her three siblings fell on her shoulders.
She took up power lifting, dropped the drugs and confronted her father. On
his birthday, no less. They sat down together and she made it clear to him
in a deadly serious tone of voice, that if he ever so much as touched her
siblings she would kill him. And she meant it.
He switched to emotional abuse. She quietly took it.
He refused to see his wife's blatant alcoholism or his daughters
troubles. On one of the many nights he allowed his wife to drive his
children home while she was drunk, despite the frantic protests of his
eldest, his wife wrecked the car. The eldest hung on to the youngest for
dear life, trying to shield the youngest with her body.
Even after wrapping the car around a tree, her mother still tried to
pull out. The eldest convinced her mother to go to the bathroom in the
woods by the side of the car, and then grabbed the car keys and threw them
under the car. She could not stop her mother from driving any other way.
And if her mother came back and the keys were around the eldest would have
been beaten until the keys were handed over.
He still refused to see his wife's problem.
As the eldest grew older she became the pivotal force of the family.
Her father gave her a job at the company he owned and paid her less than she
would make anywhere else for a fourty hour work week that was actually
sixty to seventy hours a week. And if she missed a day he docked her pay.
At night when her parents went out they left her in charge of her
siblings, who had been raised more by her than by their mother and treated
her as such. In turn, she felt as if she were their mother, and loved them as
"her kids".
They were what kept her trapped. A simple threat of being thrown out
and never allowed to see them again silenced her protests.
Then the final straw. He maneuvered his eldest daughter into a trap
situation in which she was damned if she did, damned if she didn't. One
option left her in as much of a dilemma as the other. There were no options,
and no outs. The _perfect_ emotional abuse. And it began to take it's toll.
She tried not to let it show, tried to "be strong" and pretend she was
fine, but I could see her slipping.... loosing her grip.... hurting. And I
hurt for
her.
At the same time I was furious. Angry to such a high degree that it
allowed for my wishes to come true. To visit his dreams. And I chose to
conjure up his worst nightmares.
I came to him that first night dressed in simple black, looking exactly
like myself. I wanted him to recognize me.
"I know what you've done." I told him, walking in the shadows of his
dreams. I changed the color to misty blue, the darkness of the color
enhancing the mood I was trying to create.
He confronted me, belligerent. "You know nothing!" he snapped, trying
to intimidate me. He moved into my space. But I knew better.
I reached up with a leather gloved hand and shoved him, giving myself
the strength to push him over. As if he weighed nothing. He was nothing. He
looked up at me from the floor, his mouth agape in shocked surprise. I
changed the colors to blood red, matching the fury of my feelings.
"Your own daughter!" I ground out in slow, cutting syllables. "Your
own flesh and blood! You hurt her, deliberately, time and time again. You!
You caused the pain in your family. You failed to protect her fragile
sexuality. You! Because you felt powerless you took it out on her. You are
nothing! Powerless. Pitiful."
He shrank back away from me, remaining low down to the floor.
Deliberately, I escalated his fear, letting it feed off of its' self, and
intensify. It made me feel good to see him cower. The color of his dreams
changed to murky black, and I faded slowly out of his sight, never breaking
eye contact or the accusations in my eyes. I hope he woke up screaming.
Night after night I re-visited him, each time bringing the terror and
accusations with me. I heard reports that he was having trouble sleeping,
taking pills and loosing weight. I continued the nightmares.
Then one day I walked into his company. Dressed in my usual black,
calling greetings to those I knew, I headed straight for his office. When I
reached the glass walls of his office I did not enter. He was inside doing
paperwork. I stared at him, my face impassive.
Feeling my stare he looked up, and then turned deathly white. The
shadows under his eyes looked black against the pallor of his skin. Without
a word I stared directly into his eyes. A long moment passed. Then I turned
my back on him, and walked away.
He had felt his power by taking it from others, now he truly knew how
it felt to have it taken away.
Copyright April, 1993
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>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Suki<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Bi, switch, tease, but mostly uppity bottom.
P.O. Box 441661 / Somerville, MA 02144
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