Chronologically occurs after All the Lives We're Not, on Oct. 27th
word count: 674


Two weeks into 'vacation, but nothing had normalized. Strange dreams of a separate life continued, mixed with nightmares and more frequent puzzling wakings without dream and all and Dread like breathing gasoline instead of oxygen. Sometimes pieces repeated, sometimes it was some new scene. In most of them he himself answered to the name Herger. In the most benign, confusing scenes he seemed the Joyous.

They'd met up with two more cousins, Janne and Elinn, for hiking and renting a cabin on Svalbard. They were all growing accustomed to his nightly waking, but Eirik was usually the one to come over from the bunks to join him in making coffee and watching the sky at stupid o'clock. He never asked what the problem was, or what was haunting his little big cousin so badly to have wasted his health so rapidly. Eirik just sat hard by, hip-to-hip and would flare a blanket out over both their backs to huddle under. He would talk about the aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews that Björn didn't have words to ask about. He would get them refills of drinks and bring knekkebrød with different toppings over to put without comment into Björn's hands. It was a good way of getting him to eat. There was no discussion, just clear expectation and provision. He ate. They watched the Northern Lights when it was clear enough.

Tonight he wished it were likewise, but no one else stirred as he blinked and looked around the cabin from his sleeping space on the floor. It was enough like the barracks that it took extra time to remember he was with family, not ...wherever sleep dropped him. I should stay inside. Opening the door will gust cold around and they need sleep.

He grabbed one of the lamps instead, and his little journal from his bag to add to the growing notes. It had been one of Janne's suggestions over breakfast- if he was being kept so wakeful at night, he might as well jot the images down. Maybe they would make sense later.

There had been a large, pavilion maze complex of tent with generators and stored water. Gravity hangs of solar bag water and filtration. Troughs for washing. He remembered a bull marked on a plaque above a little room. Ida in her purples and golds there- she'd seemed to never leave it through a hundred and more images like snapshots trained together- polaroids spliced together and developing while hanging from a string. Ida looked so worried and tatter-tired all the time.

There was a small, small room with a mirror. There were beautiful children and their mothers- a woman with a smile colourful as her tattoos and another with rosegold eyes. He asked to be allowed to take the children for the evening. They hid under his vest for warmth in the autumn chill, reaching sticks he sharpened for them out over coals at the edge of a fire. There were marshmallows.

He remembered shopping at weird places like Gander Mountain and REI looking for a Hand-crank Blender like GSI advertised.

Single sentences drifted through out of order- 'You are not called yet, but you may before the day is done. You will see her again.'

There had been horror then, and resolve. Loss heavier than lifting cars or pulling semi trucks in harness. There was a shining stag and her stitch-scar smile. Strange, broken, corrupted senshi all around.

It had been a try for some purpose. Distraction and sacrifice. Had it worked? Maybe? He put the journal away, dimmed the lantern to off. It didn't feel to have much to it except the Loss in waking. Just drowning in air and dragged down to the Earth that had no more protection to offer her self or her sons and daughters.

Björn laid down again, staring at the wall.
"We died."

Why do I dream of dying with another name.
Why dying?