Kieran O’Conna “Blood and Bones”

I dream of blood and bones.

My sleeping eyes bring visions of bodies lying on fields strewn with entrails.

Is mine among them?

I see myself in battle, but my adversaries hidden in a red haze.
When was I there? I cannot remember..

The visions, so real they seem like forgotten memories, play in my skull like shadows on the wall. Of many fields, many lands.

I find weapons in my hand, of stone, of bronze, of steel, covered in the muck and gore of war.

A figure beckons in the background. Dark, stooped of shoulder, black of visage.
I do not wish to heed him, but my feet carry me to his side.

I’m standing before a bog field. The air is damp and smells of peat. I feel a sharp pain, and the world turns black.

I’m rising from a bog and the dark figure beckons.

I stand at his side and await his bidding.

I rise from a pile of bodies, stinking in the hot sun, covered in blood. Is it theirs, or my own?

Far away in the mists, the dark figure beckons.

The shadows flicker, and I see the face of my enemy as he delivers me the killing blow.
My body falls, to join my comrades in the muck and gore. Blood and bones.

I feel my last breath slip from me.

Then the dark figure beckons, and I rise.

I waken, startled, and tell myself “this canna be real! I’ssa fever dream is all!”

But my forehead is cold, clammy, and damp. Only my eyes feel burning hot, like embers.

And I know that when I sleep, I will return to dreams of blood and bones.