[Context: I write my dreams as if they were fictional short stories. I believe this helps me become a better writer. On my blog, I label these dreamy short stories as #fictionalshortstories.]
Midday. High school math class.
My headphones were in and I was singing "Where is my Mind?" by the Pixies. I walked down the rows of students to my seat. I noticed people laughing as I walked, so I pulled out my headphones.
I was singing out loud.
Blushing, I sat at an empty spot, which weirdly was on a smooth brown plastic floor. The floor was a concave shape, and the large drain hole at the bottom of the slope made me uneasy. As I sat down, my favorite green bomber jacket slid down and into the hole.
"My jacket!," I screamed.
A dark female bent down and grabbed it for me. The jacket was caught on the drain's gates. The woman handed it back to me, silently.
"Thank you," I said to her. She didn't address me back.
When I turned around, I was face to face with the most peculiar of people.
It was the most masculine female, or most feminine male- I couldn't tell which, that I had ever seen. They had feathers over their eyes and under their neck. They were adorned in a turquoise breast plate, gaudy eye shadow, and they were short, wide and stalky.
"I am the God of Chichen Itza," they said to me. When they spoke, I noticed a glorious light surrounding their body.
I felt honored that they even introduced themself to me. They had two sisters standing beside them.
Their two sisters told me they were djing at a rave later that night.
After class ended, I walked out to the parking lot, trailing the god of Chichen Itza and their sisters. The god shape-shifted into a tiny fairy and flew along with the sisters. Sparkles shimmered in the afternoon sun behind them.
At this point, I was shocked. I had to tell someone, so I went to my mom's house to tell her about the weird day I had.
My mom was wearing an elegant, yet simple white dress, and I was shocked to see her look so feminine and beautiful.
When I told her I met the god of Chichen Itza and watched them transform into a fairy, she became concerned. She didn't know if the god meant me harm or not.
I felt this sense of dread wash over me, and just as I began to wonder the same thing, I woke up.
"I fell asleep on the couch again," I thought to myself.
Relief washed over me, but dissipated instantly.
My newest painting, "The Severed Feminine" walked out of the canvas and stood directly over me, staring at me silently.
"Gah!," I screamed as I woke up again.
It was a dream within a dream.
But seeing the silent, severed feminine presence in front of me, in what felt like real time, really freaked me out.
Every time I look at my painting now, I'm haunted by the collective feminine that has been severed and deafeningly silenced.