Message-ID: <2343eli$9707282118@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/2343.txt> From: Suki <suki@fish.com> Subject: Story: Within the Shadows of Dreams (nc, dark) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-Id: <33DCE468.3ABA@fish.com> Hi Ya'all, This story requires a disclaimer and an explanation. First, the disclaimer: There is no sex, B&D, or S&M in this story. There is however, an intense amount of mind-play. But not the type of mind play you might be thinking of. Let me explain. I wrote this story because I had intense anger, and no way to channel it. Lasher suggested I channel it into writing. Although I had never done that, I figured I would try and probably just do one of my normal journal entries. Instead, what sprang to mind is a story. Since a large portion of the story is real, I received permission before posting this. It is also the first story I will ever bother to physically copyright, instead of simply using the implicit copyright (which is: I wrote it, therefore I own it, and have no need to spell that out). Finally, an authors note: Some people really believe in out of body experiences. That is, you can visit people in your dreams and enter into theirs. To a degree, I _do_ believe and I truly wish I had that power. -Suki Within the Shadows Of Dreams by Suki The more I heard, the more I hated him. He represented everything I fought against, and I had seen too many victims of people like him. Scarred, mutilated, broken... some on the outside, but most of the damage within.... He married her when she was young. Fourteen, still a child herself. By fifteen she had a nine month old baby, a girl, their first child. By the time his daughter was eight years old, he was already taking out his anger and frustrations on her. His daughter. His flesh and blood. Beating her, kicking her, yelling..... His wife became pregnant again and the beating on his child became worse. He never hit is wife, his daughter saw to that. Because by eight years old she was smart enough to see if her father was beginning to focus his anger on his wife, and refocus it on her. She took the beatings on herself. And the older she grew, the worse they became. He cracked her ribs. He kicked her down flights of stairs. He beat he until he was exhausted. This continued while three more children were born. By age fourteen his first born daughter was reacting like many victims of abuse. She was out of control. Drugs, alcohol, pulling dangerous stunts.... a hell-raiser. Having trouble with her self-esteem, being raised by an abusive father and molested for several years by various uncles, she got her anger out in the only way she had learned... on herself. By age sixteen she had gotten her life together. Partially because she wanted too, and partially because she had no choice. Her mother was an alcoholic, and the burden of raising her three siblings fell on her shoulders. She took up power lifting, dropped the drugs and confronted her father. On his birthday, no less. They sat down together and she made it clear to him in a deadly serious tone of voice, that if he ever so much as touched her siblings she would kill him. And she meant it. He switched to emotional abuse. She quietly took it. He refused to see his wife's blatant alcoholism or his daughters troubles. On one of the many nights he allowed his wife to drive his children home while she was drunk, despite the frantic protests of his eldest, his wife wrecked the car. The eldest hung on to the youngest for dear life, trying to shield the youngest with her body. Even after wrapping the car around a tree, her mother still tried to pull out. The eldest convinced her mother to go to the bathroom in the woods by the side of the car, and then grabbed the car keys and threw them under the car. She could not stop her mother from driving any other way. And if her mother came back and the keys were around the eldest would have been beaten until the keys were handed over. He still refused to see his wife's problem. As the eldest grew older she became the pivotal force of the family. Her father gave her a job at the company he owned and paid her less than she would make anywhere else for a forty hour work week that was actually sixty to seventy hours a week. And if she missed a day he docked her pay. At night when her parents went out they left her in charge of her siblings, who had been raised more by her than by their mother and treated her as such. In turn, she felt as if she were their mother, and loved them as "her kids". They were what kept her trapped. A simple threat of being thrown out and never allowed to see them again silenced her protests. Then the final straw. He maneuvered his eldest daughter into a trap situation in which she was damned if she did, damned if she didn't. One option left her in as much of a dilemma as the other. There were no options, and no outs. The _perfect_ emotional abuse. And it began to take it's toll. She tried not to let it show, tried to "be strong" and pretend she was fine, but I could see her slipping.... loosing her grip.... hurting. And I hurt for her. At the same time I was furious. Angry to such a high degree that it allowed for my wishes to come true. To visit his dreams. And I chose to conjure up his worst nightmares. I came to him that first night dressed in simple black, looking exactly like myself. I wanted him to recognize me. "I know what you've done." I told him, walking in the shadows of his dreams. I changed the color to misty blue, the darkness of the color enhancing the mood I was trying to create. He confronted me, belligerent. "You know nothing!" he snapped, trying to intimidate me. He moved into my space. But I knew better. I reached up with a leather gloved hand and shoved him, giving myself the strength to push him over. As if he weighed nothing. He was nothing. He looked up at me from the floor, his mouth agape in shocked surprise. I changed the colors to blood red, matching the fury of my feelings. "Your own daughter!" I ground out in slow, cutting syllables. "Your own flesh and blood! You hurt her, deliberately, time and time again. You! You caused the pain in your family. You failed to protect her fragile sexuality. You! Because you felt powerless you took it out on her. You are nothing! Powerless. Pitiful." He shrank back away from me, remaining low down to the floor. Deliberately, I escalated his fear, letting it feed off of its' self, and intensify. It made me feel good to see him cower. The color of his dreams changed to murky black, and I faded slowly out of his sight, never breaking eye contact or the accusations in my eyes. I hope he woke up screaming. Night after night I re-visited him, each time bringing the terror and accusations with me. I heard reports that he was having trouble sleeping, taking pills and loosing weight. I continued the nightmares. Then one day I walked into his company. Dressed in my usual black, calling greetings to those I knew, I headed straight for his office. When I reached the glass walls of his office I did not enter. He was inside doing paperwork. I stared at him, my face impassive. Feeling my stare he looked up, and then turned deathly white. The shadows under his eyes looked black against the pallor of his skin. Without a word I stared directly into his eyes. A long moment passed. Then I turned my back on him, and walked away. He had felt his power by taking it from others, now he truly knew how it felt to have it taken away. Copyright April, 1993 -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /