Just a Dream

Penny Rose awoke in a curled ball, under a big, spreading tree. The grass was dark around her, the wind blowing smoothly, and there was a bright moon in the sky. Had she made it through the dream? Had she come to the other side? Where was Lucif? The box was still warm at her heart, though she was cold. She put her hand over it, then pulled it out to watch the way it glowed, like a little hearth, in her hand. She sat against the tree and waited. Where else was she to go? But the scene quickly changed around her. There was a storm coming, and with absolute certainty, she realized she had to go home.
She got up, and began to quickly hurry, over stile, and through small woods, fleeing the storm very fast. But it was faster. It caught up with her, and overtook her, dark and roiling clouds, thunder, lightning. She began to run. Soon she saw the schoolhouse, oddly lit up as if for a party. Perhaps her parents were there? She felt she should stop, but kept running, anyways. The flat paper-doll-house look of the windows, even golden and lit as they were, frightened her. She hurried as fast as she could. It was as if her feet had the wind in their heels, but even so the storm came upon her house before she did. She couldn't go in, though she wanted to be there, even though she saw the lightning hit it from a distance of a quarter mile. It hit it, and in a moment, it was ablaze as if it had been burning for hours. When she got to it, it was entirely burnt, cold, and out. She was in a welter of complete despair. Tears again began to course, so easily accessible here, in this world.
And then she felt the box by her heart. All this running time, she hadn't noticed it. But it's warm pulse kept her heart from freezing with the cold of sadness. And she took it out once again, though it only illuminated that she had been mistaken. Only her room had been burnt. The rest of the house was simply abandoned. She clutched it. That couldn't be right. Her room did not face that way. And suddenly she remembered, it was a dream. A dark and horrible one, but a dream, and therefore not real. She looked closer at the room, but it seemed to fade on closer inspection. She felt the pull and the horror of it, but taking a step back, she resolutely held the box and set off down the road. Only a dream. Only a dream! A deep struggle to stare at the ruins of it all came over her, but with great fortitude and grit, she turned slowly on her heel, and marched around her house and out into the North Moors.
The sun began to rise, and birds to sing. She found herself transported to an arbor-land of trees. And she saw an owl ahead, sitting awkwardly right on the ground. A dream still, but this was at least a friendly mirage. She greeted it politely, wondering what it might do, and saw the happiness in a dark pair of eyes. "I'm glad I've found you," it said, bewilderingly. "You've been gone some time in this place." Owl gaze held hers reassuringly for a moment. "Yes," said Penny Rose, unsure, "I'm not certain how to get out."
"Ahh," said the owl softly, and swished it's wings to come to rest on her shoulder. Penny Rose was delighted by the lightly prickling weight on her shoulder. "It is not difficult, once you know the way." Penny Rose was relieved to hear it. "But I think that you have not yet finished with this place." A deep sinking feeling came upon her at that.
"No?" she asked, warily, thinking perhaps she could get the secret way from him and simply do it very quickly, thus escaping any more of this trauma.
"No," it said, seeming quite happy. Then it looked at her, and cocked it's head lovingly. "You've seen the outside of you, and your inside world, but what about that box? Have you dreamed about the box?"
Penny Rose shook her head. "Ahh, well, that is a very important part of all of this my dear. And all I can do is set the stage." The owl flew up to the top of the tall wall that was now along Penny Rose's right side. The evening came fast, and a mist arose. Penny Rose felt cold and afraid, once again. "No!" she said, even though quietly, it was clear. "No more, please," she pled. The owl didn't stop, but like a symphony, directed the elements to continue their work. "Oh box," she said, forlornly, "why must it be dark again?"