III.

The black skies over the outskirts of Poltava were dusted with a multitude of frosty, brilliant stars. Nestled in a small clearing in a forest filled with pine and elm trees, the red and gold dacha was a warm spot amid the snow-covered Ukranian wilderness.
      Inside the cozy wood-laden living room, a 13-year old boy with dark brown hair and blue eyes was also transfixed by the international newscast, this one spoken in his native Ukranian.
      "Dmi, dinner is ready.*"
      Dmitri snapped out of his trance at the sound of his mother's voice, and clicked off the television without thinking.
      He shuffled toward the kitchen, still in a daze. It was so difficult to comprehend that it had actually happened -- that the massacre from last night's dream had appeared on television in livid bloody detail.
      "What's wrong Dmi?" asked his mother Evelina Makova. She was sitting at the table as was his father Simon Nebosin. Evelina's long brown hair and dark eyes were on the jackets of quite a few books, her existential poetry finding a popular resonance amongst a generation of neo-nihlists
      "I'm just tired. I didn't sleep very well last night." Dmitri replied wearily.
      Evelina touched her son's forehead. "No fever. But you are a bit clammy."
      At this, his father Simon momentarily tore himself away from his laptop computer. Dmitri's features strongly resembled that of his father, but Simon's forehead was lined with deep wrinkles from worrying about the environment, something that still occupied most of his spare time, despite having a job as a caretaker for the ancient wood surrounding the historic city.
      "I'm not really hungry, mother. I'd just as soon go to bed."
      "Okay honey. I hope you have a good sleep."
      "Same to you. Goodnight."
      After Dmitri left the room, Simon finally said something. "Are you sure he's all right? He seemed a bit troubled."
      "I'm surprised you even noticed, Simon. I suppose those paternal instincts do kick in once in while."
      At his wife's sharp retort, he retreated back into the world of enviromental reports -- something he could understand better than a teenaged son that had become a stranger to him ever since their move from Kiev.

In Dmitri's room, which was painted a soft mint green, he sat back in bed listening to the energizing sounds of Many Idiots Talk while reading spine-tingling tales of alien abduction that were guaranteed to keep one awake all night, precisely the stimulant he was looking for. Contrary to what he had told his mother, Dmitri was trying despartely not to fall asleep. He reached over to the side of his bed and picked up a half-empty 2-liter bottle of Zolt cola, drinking it down quickly. He found its warm, flat taste unappetizing, but he needed the added caffeine and sugar to keep himself going until his parents were asleep -- then he would sneak into the kitchen and swill down some of the iced tea his mother kept perpetually in the refrigerator, no matter how cold the weather outside.
      Unfortunately, Dmitri's mild yet undiagnosed hypoglycemia kicked in, and he fell asleep around 2 a.m., with a compilation of the most rousing of The Cure's early recordings playing.
      Later, Dmitri opened his eyes. His room was strangely aglow -- illuminated by a grey-green light coming from outside his bedroom window.
      Dmitri got out of bed rather mechanically. He was oblivious to the strange lighting, his thoughts were only of the glowing forest.
      He walked down the hall toward the glass door leading to the atrium. The scene outside the glass had changed to late spring -- the snow replaced by cool moist grass, with the nearby wood sporting new growth. Nor was it night-time anymore but an unearthly twilight, everything taking on the eerie hue of the strange gray-green mist. At the edge of the forest, Dmitri saw a white shape move, then disappear. At first he thought he was seeing things, but then when the shape reappeared next to the wood pile, he saw that the apparition was a dark-haired girl wearing a white flowing dress.
      Dmitri quickly left the atrium, and stepped out into the strange twilight.
      "Hello?"
      The girl's only reply was to turn around and retreat back into the woods.
      "Wait! Who are you?"
      He began running after her, even after she had left the path and slipped into the underbrush. Dmitri was oblivious to the scratches from the dried branches -- all he could think about was catching the strange and beautiful girl.
      He slipped on the wet leaves and when he regained his balance, she had disappeared into the grey-green mist.
      Dmitri looked around at his surroundings -- they were totally unfamiliar to him -- he being deep inside the thick pine forest. He had a sinking feeling of quiet panic as the mist began closing in on him, becoming a thick pea-soup fog that blinded him in its haunting luminescence. Then the eerie light metamorphosized into daybreak as he awoke with a start, finding himself feeling very lost even though he was 'home again'.

* Translated from Ukranian.

Dream Girl

It started way back when
I was a lad, the age of ten
I dreamed of you as someone from afar
I couldn't reach you, you were like a star
Dream girl I see you now so clear
Only now you are really near
If I could only touch your hand
And try to make you understand
We're not stangers as before
In my dreams it's you I adore
I have tenderly caressed you
I'm the one you said yes to
But you look at me and turn away
I wish I knew the right words to say
Is there a way to make my dreams come true
There can never be another now that I've found you.

- Gladys O. Mercier, 1958

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