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The first time it happened, the darkness was so thick, the cries so anguished, bouncing around in the cavern, Gregor had thought the dream was real. Waking up in a cold sweat Gregor looked around his room mistaking the pale dawn light that shone in through the window as the ghostly look of death and felt the prick of tears in the corners of his eyes. He was so scared, so confused. Then, like a lighthouse’s beam cutting through the fog, the pitiful wails of a new born baby dispersed Gregor’s fear. Without a second thought he rolled out of bed and went to comfort the crying infant before she woke up their exhausted mother. It wasn’t until a few hours later when Margaret was happily sucking on the ear of a stuffed animal and the rest of the house hold was up and moving around that Gregor realized he was still with the living.
The second time it happened, Gregor awoke on the couch. He thought perhaps it was the impact that woke him. His mind’s inability to show him exactly what it would feel like to suddenly hit the ground after what felt like hours of falling pulled him, prematurely, from his nap. Wiping a hand across his damp forehead, Gregor turned to look for the time on a wall clock. Instead he found worry, confusion, and possibility a little bit of fear in the wide eyes of his younger sister Lizzie who sat watching him silently. It was then he discovered that the realistic burning of his throat that he dreamed of was from real screams of fear.
The third time it happened, Gregor wasn’t the only one to fall. It was strange, to feel the weight and warmth of other bodies around him. To have his fear drowned out by the cries of others. The funny thing about dreams is that they rarely make sense when they occur but they usually make even less sense once you’ve awoken. It took three weeks for Gregor to rid himself of the feeling of claws scraping his skin, of hands grappling in the dark for a foot hold to stop their descent.
Gregor hated the Underland. It wasn’t a place for humans, or at least not for him. The dark was constricting, swallowing him whole and reminding him of the empty darkness he fell through every night. The cries of war and destruction were lined with despair and pain that reminded him of screaming for a savior when there was nothing holding him up. The large creatures were so different from what he was used to, their fangs were so much larger, and the slightest look at Ripred’s claws sent shivers up Gregor’s spine. What would it feel like to be cut by something so gruesome looking? What would it feel like to have something so sharp grasp onto you like a lifeline?
When Gregor fell, he closed his eyes. Pretending that it was a dream made things easier. The close darkness was familiar. The warmth and weight and claws of rats made it so easy to pretend he would wake up in a few minutes. Through all the chaos, there was one cry heard above everything. It sounded vaguely like “Ares!” and then Gregor knew it was Henry. Luxa’s traitorous cousin. He was what made the dream less believable. The cries Gregor normally heard had no substance, no name or face connected to them to make bile rise in Gregor’s throat.
Impact hurt a lot less than Gregor ever thought it would. The ground was a lot softer than any rock Gregor had ever experienced before. He hoped it was rock. He hoped he wouldn’t have to lay in the dark, on top of the lifeless bodies of rats who had fallen before him, slowly dying from injuries he had yet to feel. Gregor wanted it to be quick. He didn’t like this feeling he had of being misplaced.
Blood was rushing through his veins, pounding out a terrifying beat in his ears and it almost felt like his falling from before was in reverse. It almost sounded like Henry’s cries were behind him, growing fainter and fainter until finally, they merged with other screams and there was no longer a face or name to connect the sound in Gregor’s mind.
Gregor kept his eyes closed when he fell and wondered if he still had the chance to wake up.