He was our Knight. He wasn't particularly fit, but he was smart and hearty. He was chosen to wield the Blade. He would be the one to slay the Beast.

We hoped.

I was his advisor, the most paranoid among us, and as we waited I gave him tips on the Blade and repeated for the thousandth time what we knew of the Beast.

The Blade's surface reflected light almost perfectly, broken only by the single groove on either side. The Blade was as wide as a man's head, but only half an arm in length. Its handle seemed oversized and gave it the appearance of a malformed spear.

But it was sharp. Sharp enough to hurt the Beast, and that was what mattered. Energies were born upon its edge that would destroy the Beast utterly.

I screamed to him as I saw the claws find purchase on the ledge outside, the scaly skin fill the doorway and windows. Everyone felt the tremor through the ground and the dust fill their nostrils.

His attitude had been making me nervous, but my fears vanished as he leapt at the creature.

He was swatted away with a stroke of the monster's tail but appeared to ricochet off the wall and press into the Beast with great fury. Our hearts sank as we watched the Blade thrust at the monster's tough hide. The skin merely deformed and the Blade was returned unbloodied. He only gave this a moment of his consideration before renewing his strokes as the Beast snatched him up in one enormous claw.

The Beast must have been unchallenged for too long, it had forgotten its own mortality. For when it was about to consume our Knight, the Blade found purchase in the Beast's mouth.

OK, I have to write this before I forget it:

I remember having been to some sort of fortune teller, who told me I had to be in a certain newsagent at a certain time, because I was going to stop my friend (not sure who the friend was) from being shot by somebody. This fortune teller had told me the name of the newsagents, something starting with an 'H' (I can't remember it completely), and the earliest visual memory I have is of walking down a street, trying to find the newsagent.

After walking all the way up the street, going to the wrong newsagent, and coming back, I see a shop with the 'H' name, however it's not a newsagent. I look to the next shop, and the next, and they also have this 'H' name. I look across the street, and the newsagent is there.

I go in, look around, and the person I'm supposed to save isn't there, so I start to look around. Funnily enough, this newsagent has no magazines or anything newsagents usually have, but instead it's full of video games, with test play consoles. I played some sort of platform game on one of the consoles for a while, but got bored.

A man comes in, and pulls out a gun, but I'm thinking that this is all wrong, because the person I'm meant to save isn't here. I go to the corner of the room, behind a small display stand, and lie down on the floor, hoping I won't be seen, but the man tells everybody to stand up, including myself, and I do so.

The man's gun is some sort of revolver, and I find myself thinking that I should count how many bullets he uses, so I can grab it without danger, however I don't know enough about guns. 'Not all revolvers are six-shooters, are they? Aren't there revolvers that have nine bullets?'

Something must not have gone the man's way, because he decides he needs to kill some of the people here. I know I should stop him, but can't figure out how I can do it safely, so I watch as he shoots two people, directly between the eyes. There is no blood, however, and I remember thinking how small and perfect the bullet holes were. He shoots at two more people, but either misses or hits them somewhere else on their body. He shoots one more person in the head, then turns to me, and aims. I close my eyes, waiting for the bullet to come, and everything goes black.

I wake up later, and I think I'm on the ground, with what looks like the chamber of the revolver in front of me. There are people taking the man away, and he's saying that he doesn't know how he could have missed those two people, he got the first ones directly between the eyes, and he never misses.

And that's about it. What was interesting is that, while listening to the radio this morning, Nova FM had a Moral Dilemma competition, where the dilemma was 'If three guys were pushing around and hassling a teenage girl at a station, would you stand up to them, or call the police?' I found it very hard to answer the question, but it brought back the feeling of this dream, knowing I should do something, but not being able to make myself do it.

1/15: Plenty of stuff. Let's see how much I'll remember. If you've ever had a feather pillow, you know they're quite heavy. My mom had a feather pillow in real life. It was in my dream, only her father, my grandpa, had done something to it-- something scientific, but it really adds up to an enchanted pillow. The effects of gravity were different on this pillow. If you threw it in the air, it would come down slower than it should (if you looked for this effect, it diminished, I
think). If you just held one end of it, it would hang at an angle. Ah! You know what, first it was my scripture case. Later, it changed into a feather pillow. Anyhow, when I walked in my grandparents' door, my right arm (which held my scripture case) floated out behind me very strongly. I couldn't bring it down, until I turned the case around by its handle-- then it hung normally, or even pushed the other way (towards me? towards the front? anyway, another way). By the time Micah arrived and I
showed it to him, I think it was a pillow. I thought "Gosh, this is so cool; If I was dreaming..." I immediately felt how ridiculous it was to imagine I was dreaming. Dreaming! Ha! How silly! Then I thought "Hey! I really should check, even if I'm not dreaming." I looked all around for some writing that would change if I paid close attention to it; no dice, and I had to act quickly, or risk losing my thought. My hands would suffice-- but the room was too dark (though it had always seemed
light enough before). I took them over to a nearby lamp, and frantically examined them, trying to focus on the lines-- and finding, after much concentration, that the lines crinkled and shifted before my eyes! "I AM dreaming!" I said, and frantically tried to remain asleep and keep knowing that I was dreaming. "I am dreaming, I am dreaming" I repeated to myself, though it seemed I did so with my waking mouth-- I frantically switched context back to my dream-muscles and did things with them, moving, spinning
around, anything to keep my waking self from taking over. Whether it was really awake, or just dreaming it was. I didn't want to take the chance. Anyway, I got exactly one thing in before I forgot I was dreaming. I leaned over to where the illusion of my grandfather was sitting, and slapped it full in the face. Its nose promptly vanished. Ha! Take that, figment! Knowing I had done my part to conquer the world of my head for one night, I peacefully slipped back into unawareness. Later, I went to the
bathroom. Needed an awful lot of toilet paper. For crying out loud, you didn't want to hear that. Well, I include it for the sake of completeness. Seems like everyone else around was under a lot of stress. Maybe me too. Some of the ground outside was flooded, and people had trouble driving around in it. Then my mom chased me around the house, shooting sucker-tipped arrows at me from a bow. She often grazed me, but never got in a solid hit. So she gave it up, chased me with one of the arrows, and just
smacked me with it.

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