Some things don’t have to be understood.

  Collected Unpublished Lyrics

  - Sibsil Creed, Stories of Shurwinn, (2766)

  Dream Journal

  There was light. And it was soft. Welcoming. A man stood in front of me holding his arms open. I went to him and hugged him, feeling something I had never felt before: home.

  I was home. It was comfort and peace. I belonged.

  My eyes opened, and I still felt like I was in a warm embrace. It had been a dream, but it had felt real. Like he was still here hugging me.

  What was that? Could my subconscious create a dream like that to comfort me when I was falling apart? It felt so good that I didn’t think I could’ve made it up. I had never felt home in that way.

  Was he a person? Was he real? Who was he to me?

  Was he mine?

  The dream felt so important, I didn’t want to forget it. The day before, I'd impulsively bought a little light brown spiral notebook with delicate dark green vines and bright purple flowers in a shop because it sang to me of Shurwinn. I grabbed it and wrote down everything I could remember about the dream.

  I hadn't seen details about the man. What color was his skin? What was he wearing? I didn’t know. I just knew what it felt like to be held by him.

  It was the best thing I’d ever felt in my life, and I wanted more.

  I kept writing and thinking about dreams. I hadn’t remembered them much before my injury, but dreams seemed so vivid recently.

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  And what about that dream when I was in the coma right before I woke up? With the ancient, round columns and the symbol burned into the stone? I wrote down everything from that dream too.

  What was going on with all of the dreams? Could I do it again? Was there some way to get my subconscious to give me another dream with the man who felt like home?

  Stars above, I hoped so.

  I set my notebook down, realizing I was so thirsty. I felt parched and wanted costamelon juice immediately, so I slid into my new Shurwinn shoes—light, flat slippers with a strap at the ankle—and headed to a shop nearby that had bevvies.

  I was still in my exercise tights and tight tank, but things were so laid back in Media Oasis that it didn’t matter. A plus of this desert world. I could learn to love it in a heartbeat.

  I filled a whole bag with costamelon juice and returned to my tiny one-room casita. There was just enough room to practice my Jendo in between a bed, a small kitchen, and a small tatsu table that sat close to the ground with shiki cushions on the floor.

  The windows were floor to ceiling, and the door was solid glass, so it didn’t feel cramped because it was lit up by the bright desert sunlight.

  Behind the closet-sized bathroom, the back of the casita opened to a beautiful garden, and Ritsken had told me I could eat anything I wanted from it. There were lemons and tangerines, date palms, and flowers everywhere.

  It was lovely and shaded, so I went out there and sat under one of the trees, watching the mirkas hopping about, but the little white one from earlier wasn’t among them.

  It must’ve been a pet, but I hadn’t noticed Ritsken with it before. As the evening cool set in, I let the scent of oranges on the breeze soothe everything inside of me.

  The oasis was cold at night. As soon as the sun set, the temperature dropped, and once the heat dissipated from the stone buildings, I needed a sweater.

  I'd bought some light, loose shorts and bandeau tops to feel more comfortable during the daytime heat, and I really liked the Shurwinn fashion. The fabrics were soft and light and easy on the skin, so it made me super relaxed. Crazy how clothing mimicked the culture that way.

  That's how Shurwinn was; everything about it felt easy. Everything was small and close by. Accessible.

  Sitting there in the garden quiet, I felt . . . different.

  Like earlier that day, I had cried so hard that I was raw inside. As if too many layers of skin had been peeled away, leaving tender, vulnerable places.

  But in the cool of the evening, I felt renewed. Rejuvenated. Like I had purged something dark and foul from inside of me, and I was cleansed from the inside out.

  And that dream. That man. It was still with me, and I could still feel that welcoming feeling. It was as though a warm gel had been poured into my soul and was healing wounded places that I hadn't known had needed a salve.

  Was that what it felt like to be broken and then mended?

  I sighed in contentment, taking another sip of juice. A turning point had taken place within me that day, and I washed away the old memories amongst blooming moonflowers as pinpricks of starlight pierced the night sky.

  Shurwinn was working its magic on me already.