Current Date: December 12, 2023
Character: Gabriel Preadon
Race: Angel
Age: 26, physically about 20
Current residence: Hawaii
I don’t like to think about my before-life. When I do, I end up thinking about my brother and I worry about what mom might still be doing to him. I worry about whether or not he’s still okay and alive, and doing well. I still don’t fully understand why I’m here and how I made it here, but these are all things that I know I have no control over, so I try not to think about it all too much.
I don’t know that I do dream about what life was like before. It was hell in and of itself and waking up here, and finding William not long after, was just the sweetest blessing I could ever find.
Now and again, though, I know I do dream about that before-life because I remember what I was dreaming about. It’s uncommon and I don’t much care to think about it but the most recent dream, of which, like everything else, I can only remember a snippet, has me just so confused because it felt real. Because the things that did happen in that dream remind me of a lot of what was going on through my mind when I was in that drug haze due to mom.
It was common closer to the end of my days before everything spiralled and I came to be here. In that haze, I would often see a humanoid shape, a shape I couldn’t confirm as being male or female. It was tall, slim and soft if I can even say that. It wasn’t human, I guess? The shape itself was mostly made of soft light most of the time, which is why I know my brain still thinks of it as being soft.
The voice that came from the shape was just as gentle and soft, but it was still of an unknown gender. I don’t know why I felt the need to cling to the idea of determining its gender back then; my brain was in a haze most of the time, my body was failing me, and I had nothing else to do. I didn’t want to think about what was happening to me in the real world, so focusing on what was right in front of my hallucinating eyes made sense.
The voice would often tell me that it knew who I was, and what I would become. It was the truth as far as it was aware, and it had never been wrong. I remember trying to ask questions, I remember wanting to know more about this potential future it knew for me that I didn’t know for myself. Would I be saved from this hell? Would I be with William again? Would we have our happily ever after?
Because sure, I might have been drugged out of my mind and used as a test subject, but I knew that William meant the world to me, even in that haze. I wanted little more than to be with him forever and a day. Be with him and save both myself and my brother from this hell.
The dream was fairly similar, except the figure in that dream was much smaller than I remembered it being. It was more defined with curls that felt so familiar, and I could even see those beautiful eyes and they were all just so familiar that it’s what woke me with a start. By that point, the figure had already reminded me of the things it had always told me while I was in that haze but there still had been something different.
Different, to the point that I spent a long time, after waking up, trying to understand why the figure in my dream had felt so familiar. Even now, I don’t know why it does, but I’ve come to a different realization, and I don’t know how to handle the knowledge.
I don’t remember what my brother looked like. I can look at my reflection in the mirror all I want, but I don’t see my brother in me, and I don’t recall what he looked like at all. It’s not that I’ve set him aside and forgotten all about him since I’ve come here, furthest from. I think about him every so often, but I guess that I mostly remember the hell we’ve been through and his voice to a point, but I don’t remember what he looks like at all.
Coming to this realization hurts. I don’t want to forget how he looks. However, I suppose this is no different than forgetting how anyone else looks once they’re no longer in your life for any length of time. I have nothing here that belonged to him, I suppose that this is one of those things with dying; you don’t get to keep souvenirs.
All I can do is remember the thought of him and do so fondly.
Works of JD Beckett 