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Dream



Peter laid down. It was dark in his room, the streetlights not penetrating the dark curtains, nor any light through the shut door though the sounds of muffled yelling did pierced the solid wooden entrance. Only a few words made it through "encourage….afraid…sleep" and the sounds of a slamming door. He closed his eyes, squinting them shut furiously. The sooner he went to sleep…..

The light floated around the door frames, though the sides and top, glowing at the bottom. Peter grinned delightedly. He had come for him! Quickly, with the ease of long practice Peter swung his legs over the side of the bed, tiptoeing barefoot over the planked floor, careful to make no noise, though as far as he knew neither of his parents had ever woken when Michael had come for him. Opening the door quietly he stepped out into what should have been the hall, but wasn't. Instead a glowing path showed through the door. In the middle of the lane sat an equally radiant chariot, holding within it, a proportionately gleaming man dressed in flowing raiment of gold and purple. Peter beamed ecstatically and took the hand the glowing man extended.

Once his foot touched the golden chariot Peter's clothing changed. No longer clothed in his blue pajamas, instead he was clothed in the apparel the man was wearing, a boy sized version of the shining man, down to the dark hair, and glowing green eyes.

"How are you, my prince?" the man asked, smiling softly.

"Very well indeed, Michael. Who is to come before us tonight?"

"Those who changed today." Michael said, turning to glance at the boy standing next to him, the wind flowing though his hair.

"You mean died, right?" Peter said softly, thinking of when he had told his mother of his nocturnal visits. Right after he had met his uncle, the one his mother never spoke to.

"Stop it, Petey! You uncle is dead. He died yesterday. I only just heard. You couldn't have met him."

It was only then that he realized that those he saw each night and judged were dead.

Seeing that they had arrived and hearing the glad cries of his people, Peter alighted from the chariot and rushed into the arms of a man in soft blue-green robes who held him a moment before releasing him to bow before Peter and kiss his hand.

"Gabriel!" Peter whined good-naturedly. "None of that!"

Gabriel smiled lightly "Welcome, my Prince. On to business, eh?"

Peter grinned and stepped up to the glowing chair that stood above the crowd of people milling around the podium. Peter motioned the first to him with a smile.

"And your name?" He asked. The man looked shocked at Peter's age.

"Paul." He said hesitantly.

"Come to me, Paul." And so on, for hours. The crowd had dwindled to only a few when a familiar face came forth. Before Peter could say a word he heard his name on her lips.

" Mother!" Peter whispered.

"It's true, then….oh Peter I'm so sorry."

Peter's mouth quirked, suddenly seeming much older. "How were you to know? Come to me, Mother."

Suddenly Peter was in her death, feeling the car crash over his body, a bright light- and then nothing. He was weeping when he was done, but nothing was to be done. He collapsed, and held his mother close for a moment. "I'll see you soon, Mother."

"See you soon, my darling. Remember your father. Tell him that I love him……and I love you." And then she was gone.

Later climbing into bed, Peter thought of how he was to tell his father. He pulled a leaf from his hair…maybe tomorrow.