Faith and Dandelion Seeds

Jain woke with a start and found that she was not in her bed. Instead, she was under a large, sturdy oak tree – the trunk going up as far as she could see. Breathless, but not yet panicked, she squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could – this had to be a dream.

Last she remembered she was in her bed, drinking tea, and reading about Japanese Forest Medicine. Her eyes were heavy as she drifted… So where was she now? She dared not open her eyes as she could feel the sun behind them and that was impossible.

Why are you so freaked out Jain? Pull it together. This is just a dream – a beautiful dream with the warm sun and very green grass all around you. Open your eyes.

 “Open your eyes, Jain – it’s okay,” a voice said gently.

“Oh God, oh God,” she tried to whisper to herself.

“Not God,” he chuckled.

I’m being murdered, aren’t I? Her logical brain told her she should panic, but the sound of his voice calmed her; a calm she hadn’t felt since several years ago. Instantly, she remembered getting lost at Michael’s farm the day they met.

The soft wind rustled through the wheat making a smooth whooshing sound that made her feel like she was in the presence of God. Her fear drifted away like dandelion seeds in the wind – then and now. She took a few deep breaths and opened her eyes. The man that stood before her was so bright she could barely make him out.

His shining brown hair rippled in the gentle breeze and framed a square, hard jaw. Although Jain could not see his face, she felt a sense of familiarity. She opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted.

“Jain. You’re going to experience something. You will feel frightened, but it’s going to be alright. You will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream. Don’t misunderstand.”

Jain blinked the memory away as she brought the white sunflower-speckled mug to her lips. 

Several of her too long dark-brown curls escaped the messy bun atop her head and it made her think of Michael – the way he would tuck them behind her oversized ear.

The way he would say “Guess those Dumbo ears are good for something” as he looked at her with so much love it filled her up. Why did we decide to be only friends? It never felt like romantic love, but it still made her feel such that she had everything she needed in the world.

“Thank God for this reading nook… And tea,” she whispered to herself as the aroma curled towards her face on the steam.

Jain’s cottage was quaint with an almost modern open concept kitchen and living room. She examined her living room with its cream-colored lounge and tribal-themed throws. There were floor cushions in various shades of blue and yellow spread on the dark hardwood, throw blanket-filled wicker baskets, and an unfinished Hawaiian koa table littered with books and pens. 

Jain loved every inch of her oasis by the pond. She caught herself staring off as she remembered something – you’ll be like a tree planted by the water.

At the same moment, her phone rang. The sight of his name flashing on the screen made her smile. 

“My angel,” she said as she picked up the phone. Michael’s deep voice always gave her a brilliant feeling in her chest. She could never quite put her finger on it, but she always felt safe with him. 

In the moments before her granny Maria had passed, Jain was glad to have him by her side. Maria had looked up at Michael and with her last breath, whispered “Angel.” The moniker had stuck.

“Jainey. How are you?” 

“Better if you were here. How’s our farm?”

“We’re good. We miss you,” he replied. 

“I’ll visit soon. The library is a mess. My writing isn’t coming along. And I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“The writer’s block will pass. Just take a break from time to time to clear your mind. And I seem to recall that you sleep like a rock… And I mean absolutely dead to the world,” he said, laughing.

“I woke up last week on the kitchen floor with a sore wrist,” she said hesitantly. 

“Whoa. Have you been to the doctor? How many times has this happened?” He spit out the questions in rapid fire. 

“Just a few.” She could hear him sighing deeply in the background and felt a pang of guilt. He seemed to care more for her wellbeing than she did at times. “The last time I was outside on my lawn when I woke up. So, I have been to the doctor. I had some blood work done, but they think maybe I’m sleepwalking,” she admitted.  

He felt terrible for harping. Since the first day they met at his farm, he was protective of her. He could feel her panic as she stood in the field with her head whirring back and forth. When she had turned to face him, he felt a soft whoosh of warm air and peace roll over him. The smoothing of the wrinkles in her face told him she felt the same. 

“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, ‘mother,’” she teased. Her quip snapped him out of the memory and made him laugh out loud. 

“Isn’t there some kind of sleep test you can get done?”

“There is a sleep clinic on Presque Isle, but that’s hours away. I don’t have time for a few days’ trip. Plus, I don’t do boats.” 

“Oh man. I feel like a librarian should have at least a bit more geographical sense than you do. It’s not an actual island,” he laughed. “But since I know you won’t do it, how about we do our own study. I can come over and, at the risk of sounding like a stalker, watch you sleep. If you sleepwalk, then we can consult your doctor and go from there.”

“Sounds like a plan. You free tomorrow tonight? I think I’ll be procrastinating, I mean taking a break from writing for my, uh, health and wellbeing.”

They laughed and carried on as they worked out the plan for the coming night. They decided Michael would nap directly after they had an early dinner, then Jain would wake him up so she could sleep. He would sleep on the slate gray moon chair in her room, of course.  

***

“Help her.” Although it was barely above a whisper, the deep voice of a man reverberated in Michael’s head. He almost yelped as he was thrust awake, a cloud of mist escaping his open mouth as his warm breath touched the cold air of the room.

Michael squeezed his eyes tight, then opened them again. He found himself rubbing them to what felt like oblivion as he just couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Droplets of water seemed to be escaping from under Jain’s sleeping body and floating up to the ceiling. It was almost as if she were sinking to the bottom of a body of water. Then he heard it – the barely audible conversation Jain was having with herself. 

“Water? Wait, what’s your name? You’re hurting me, let go. Let go of my wrist!” Jain yelled. Then, she yanked her arm back and sat up. Michael called out her name softly trying to decide if she was awake. 

“Please,” Jain seemed to beg of her invisible companion. “Tell me what you want… Why do you stalk my dreams?” she asked. As she climbed to her feet, Michael quickly came to her side examining her face. Her cheeks were ruddy, but the skin of her arm was cool to the touch and damp.

He snapped his fingers in front of her face as she stumbled past him. He didn’t know what to do. Wasn’t it dangerous to wake someone out of their dreams, especially if they’re sleepwalking? 

“Forget this,” he mumbled to himself as Jain seemed to head for the front door. He ran to stand in front of her. With his feet planted firmly, he put his arm out and grabbed her shoulder. With the other arm, Michael used his knuckles to gently rub her cheek. “Jain, it’s time to wake up,” he said as firmly as he could in a quiet voice so as not to startle her. 

“Jain,” he said more loudly. Jain’s eyes blinked open, then she collapsed into Michael’s arms. He carried her over to the moon chair in the living room wanting to get her off of her feet, but not lay her down.

“Jain. Jain, are you okay? You were sleepwalking.” He wasn’t quite sure what to do now. Do I take her to hospital if she will not fully wake up? She would be mortified to be taken to the hospital for sleepwalking. “Angel,” she whispered. 

“Jain. Please wake up. Please try, try to sit up. I need you to wake up for me, Jainey,” he pleaded. She blinked away the fog of dream. “I’m so cold,” Jain whispered as she wrapped her arms around her chest. “There was a girl. She was so scared. She kept asking me to take her to the water. Why am I wet? I have to help –” she began to say, but was cut off.

“Jainey, you were dreaming. You were sleepwalking.” His brain worked to fit the images together as he realized for the first time that her clothes, hair, and face were indeed wet; they were drenched.

His thoughts felt as if they were colliding as he pushed towards her bedroom. He placed both hands firmly on the wet mattress, willing it to be dry. He looked up at the bedroom ceiling. 

“Michael?” Jain asked him from the doorway. 

“Saint Dymphna, please protect my – ”

“Michael, what’s wrong?” Jain asked. She placed her hand on his shoulder. Startled, he inhaled sharply and turned too fast to keep his balance, sending them both to the floor in a pile. 

“It wasn’t a dream,” they confessed simultaneously. 

“There was a girl –” Jain started to say.

Michael interrupted, “It was coming out from under you –” 

“…and she was dead, I think,” Jain continued. 

“…like you were sinking in a river,” Michael said, still reciting his prayer subconsciously. 

“…I need to find –” Jain started to say.

“Wait, stop,” he exhaled, “you first,” he acquiesced as he realized they’d been speaking over each other. He also needed a moment to ground himself. He gripped the sterling silver pendant hanging around his neck as he struggled to both take in Jain’s dream and finish his prayer to the patron saint for the mentally ill. 

Jain recounted her dream – 

“‘You know me,’ he said as I followed him through the trees to her pond. The scent of the Eastern White Pine whispered through the warm air on the soft breeze. I followed calmly although I buzzed with energy. The moon was full and its soft white hue made me feel like I was in a movie. 

“I did ‘know him,’ but only in a half-faded memory in the far edges of my mind. All I can remember is a feeling… ‘Who are you?” I asked. Suddenly there was a warmth and pressure in my palm, but when I looked down, I realized it only felt held. I looked up, startled to find a sickly, gray-faced young girl standing before me. I was close enough to feel the cold oozing off of her.

“The girl’s hair was plastered to her face and neck by the moisture emanating from her surface. ‘Pond,’ she croaked in a barely audible half-whisper. 

“‘What’s your name?’ I asked her. 

“‘Water. Help me… Find me. Oh no, he’s here,’ she said. Suddenly with the grip of a vice, I was painfully wretched toward the pond by the wrist. ‘You’re hurting me, let go. Let go of my wrist,’ I demanded as I stumbled down the path, tripping over branches, rocks, and tree roots. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked. 

‘Water.’

‘You’re hurting me. Stop,’ I started to say.”

“Then, I heard your voice, and it pulled me out,” Jain said, concluding the telling of her dream. 

“Jain, there was water coming out from underneath you as if you were sinking. You, the bed, you’re soaking wet.”

Jain looked around. Her excitement faded as she registered something unfamiliar on Michael’s face – pure, hard fear. Her heart fluttered. 

“Are you okay?” she asked. 

“Why do you keep asking me that? I’m fine,” he said, more forcefully than he meant to. 

“You’re sweating,” she placed her hand on his chest, “and your heart is racing. Your face is stark white and what was that you were mumbling earlier… Some kind of prayer, I think?” 

“It’s not about me right now, Jain. Something is going on here,” he said, genuinely concerned for her wellbeing and their collective experience.  

“I had a dream and I sleep walk. I’m fine. I’m not afraid anymore, but you are and that’s concerning. You’re never scared. You’re – “

“Sleepwalking is dangerous Jain. And the water…” 

“Eh, it’s probably just sweat… Or pee,” she chuckled, knowing that didn’t really explain everything. Michael looked up at her as her chuckle turned into a full laugh. 

There went that warm whoosh again. The pounding in his chest seemed to get louder, but slower. He still felt as if he were losing it, whatever “it” was, but couldn’t help but smile. He needed to get back to his farm.

“Take a few days off,” he blurted out. He felt the sudden urge to exhale long and deep before continuing. “Come stay at the farm; you can write, relax, and I can keep an eye on you,” he half-pleaded. 

Jain truly felt fine. She actively pondered and realized that after waking from her dreams there was always this sense of what the hell just happened to me but with a tinge of excitement; this was also the first time she remembered the dream. Her excitement waned with the recognition of a sort of pleading in Michael’s smile despite the calm on his face.

***

“You realize I asked you to stay a few days, not to move in,” Michael laughed as he loaded Jain’s fifth bag of things into the bed of his pickup. 

“Hey, you know I need a bag just for my hair products,” Jain replied. Every bout of laughter created tension then sliced it.

What is going on? Jain could hear Michael finishing a prayer as they buckled in for the hour-long drive. “I love that you do that, you know,” she said after hearing his “amen.”

“Do what?” he asked.

“Pray so diligently. It’s one of the reasons I love you… You’re unabashedly religious. It gives me this overwhelming sense of peace and security,” she admitted.

“I love you too, Jain,” he said. 

“And I know you, so tell me what’s got you so scared.” 

“Ah, so that’s why you’re buttering me up,” he tried to laugh it off, but it was forced. 

“What is it you always say to me? There is no law against these things.”

“Talk later… Over tea?” Michael asked with imploring eyes. He needed time to figure out how to explain it. Jain will fall asleep in about 5 minutes. 

Michael mouthed the words as Jain replied, “Open your window. I need the fresh air.” 

Within a few minutes, Jain was sound asleep, her soft breaths prompting Michael’s brain to turn on full blast. His heart was thunderous in his chest at the prospect of having to tell Jain he was once considered insane.

How could I possibly explain? Where would I even start? How could I even call myself her best friend when she knew so little of who I was before her?

As he looked over, a warm breeze tousled her long, dark curls. What is wrong with me? He’d never known anyone so understanding. He wasn’t quite sure what was making him so nervous. “The truth it is, then,” he declared to no one. 

“Home.” The word reverberated ominously in the corners of her mind. Michael tensed as Jain woke with a start and a sharp intake of air. He almost slammed on the breaks, but instead watched as his hand signaled the hazards.

“I’m okay… I just… Was that you?” She asked. 

“No, but I heard it, too,” Michael sighed. The relief at the confirmation of another hearing the voice was kismet. Jain felt terrified, but instinctively wanted to assuage Michael’s nervousness. 

“Your home or my home,” she asked with a forced chuckle. 

He swallowed the lump of rising anxiety. He couldn’t tell if it was from the voice or the impending conversation about his tryst with insanity. “We’re almost to the farm,” he said. He signaled and re-entered the road, not remembering having pulled over in the first place. 

Almost one by one, each hair on her arm and neck rose. What am I dreading here? The farm is also home.

“The farm is your home, too,” Michael said. 

That voice. It wasn’t the one from my dreams, she thought. 

“Put on the full armor of God,” a man’s voice echoed in the distance. 

“What?” Jain asked as she looked up at Michael.

“I said the farm is also your home,” Michael repeated.

“What else?” asked Jain.

“What else, what?” Michael asked, confused.

Jain opened her mouth to tell him about the other voice, but it snapped shut almost as instantly. The first voice scared her to her depths and Michael was already very anxious. She did not want to add to his worry until they talked about that prayer and whatever else had him so terrified. 

Terrified was an appropriate word to describe the expressions that hadn’t seemed to leave his face of late. The reds, yellows, and greens of the tree leaves seemed to blend and expand as the car sped on. They rode the last 20 minutes to the farm in silence, each scared to know what was next.

Jain carried the last bag into the guest room. She had seen the guest room briefly during her first tour of the house but did not remember it being so beautiful. The white linen curtains were embossed with white, almost fuzzy flowers. They fluttered in the light breeze and sunshine. The room smelled of magnolias and was decorated in white, sage green, and lavender.

Jain felt as if she walked into a botanical garden in the spring. “Wow, this is amazing. I may never leave,” she chuckled, half wishing she didn’t have to.

Michael just smiled and although it was genuine, she could feel his apprehension. They stood there in silence for a moment too long. “Right, then. Tea, shall we?” Jain suggested as she tucked her suitcase into the closet. She was ready for an explanation. She moved to the living room while Michael made tea.

“What you heard earlier was a prayer to Saint Dymphna, Patron Saint for the mentally ill,” Michael said as he came back with the steaming mugs.  

“Okay…” Jain said sarcastically to hide her disappointment. This was clearly an important secret that her best friend had kept from her. It was also concerning because he was both the most religious and sound-minded person she’d ever met. Her logical brain made her view extremely religious people with skepticism.

She could never wrap her head around how fantastical religion seemed, and yet, Michael had made it all make sense. He led her back to God in a vicarious way.

Whatever it was, they would work through it together. To hear Michael describe himself as mentally ill, however, disheartened her. “Let me start from the beginning.” A few beats passed as Michael tried to decide what the beginning was. 

Where is the beginning?

“Growing up, I was constantly told how blessed I was. I was found at the front stoop of a church as a baby, then adopted by loving, well-off, God-fearing folks, and treated like the golden child. I was never ill, was very popular – although I seemed to be more popular with the girls… Don’t look at me like that. I meant that I had a ton of female friends.

“I was a straight A student, enjoyed the million and one religious activities my parents dragged me to, and overall had a great life. Then at 16, I was offered an opportunity through the honors program at my high school to take a course at the local community college. Of course, I chose a theology course…

“It’s funny I can’t even remember what the course was called, but I can remember my excitement. I mean it was a three-fer. I was able to get college credit, experience college life, and it was an opportunity to gain an even deeper understanding of the God I loved so much. 

“Then something amazing happened. It started with a feeling. I would wake up in the morning feeling like… What was it? I started to feel like I had learned something, like I had spent the night pondering some of those existential questions and somehow found the answers. You know, like what life is, and the point of it.

“I would wake up feeling so refreshed and I don’t know – at the risk of sounding cheesy as hell – like I knew what real joy was. The doctors later described it as a manic episode. And that made sense because I’d feel exhilarated even after just a few hours of sleep. Then, the voices started.” 

Michael took a deep breath. There’s no turning back now. “I prayed to God every day. I started to thank him for these feelings I was having. One day I remember kneeling down to pray but being shaken ‘awake’ by my mom. She said I had been kneeling there for hours, that I must have fallen asleep there.

“We had a pretty good laugh about it. No one laughed, though, when I told them that when I talked with God, he talked back. At first, I think they thought I meant metaphorically… You know, in that way that folks say ‘God answered my prayer.’

“But the more I tried to explain that He literally spoke to me, the more worrisome the glances exchanged between my parents grew. Until finally, I was admitted.”

Jain had a million questions. It was not that Jain necessarily believed he was communicating with God, but she couldn’t imagine a world where Michael wasn’t the sanest person she knew. 

“My parents took me to a psychologist who said I was having delusions. When nothing they tried convinced me, they decided that I needed more long-term care. Anyway, you asked what had me so scared… I heard a voice last night willing me to wake up. And when I did, not only was there water coming out from underneath you, but the bed and you were really wet.

“If I’m delusional again, okay, but the fact that you were actually wet makes me question everything… And that’s more scary than maybe just needing stronger meds,” he admitted.

Jain absorbed everything and felt just as confused as Michael. There was also the sense that they shared something. Up until that voice in the car, she hadn’t been frightened by her recent experiences. She wasn’t sure, however, that she would categorize her feelings as joyful.

Maybe it was the writer inside her yearning to solve the mystery of the girl by the river. Maybe it was that she felt the same about her night walks as she did religion – excited, scared, and full of wonder. 

“Not to be crass, but mental health issues aren’t contagious. I heard that voice on the way here too. And that voice…” she trailed off, not sure how to put it. “It wasn’t the same voice from my dreams, from the original dream.” 

“Original dream?” Michael asked quizzically.

“I had kind of put it out of my mind, but now that I am thinking about it all and saying things out loud, they must be connected. I have a vague memory of a dream preceding my night walks,” she started to say.  

“You realize how ‘night walk’ sounds right?” he asked, trying to cut down his anxiety. He was still reeling from telling her about his scary past. She had breezed right past it. She was right… It can’t be a delusion if she is sharing it, too. Right? 

“Oh God,” she said laughing and bringing him back from his thoughts. “My walking dreams, then. Before all the madness, I had a dream – though I don’t remember falling asleep – and this man, I think it was a man, he was glowing, it was a whole thing…

“Anyway, this man came to me and said that I was going to experience something. Then, he said, ‘You will be like a tree planted by the water that sends out its roots by the stream.’”

“Wait. He was glowing?” Michael asked.

“Yes. So, I woke up and I was sitting under a tree. At first, I was freaking out a bit, but as soon as this ‘man’ appeared I felt better… Like when I first saw you actually, at this farm. Anyway, I’m not sure if it was a man because the sun was behind him. He was so bright that I could barely make him out.

“And yet there was something so familiar about him. Anyway, what if he was referring to these walking dreams?”

“I’m sorry. Let’s go back. What did he say to you? He said those words exactly – ‘you will be like a tree’, and so on?” Michael asked, a memory pinging in his mind. 

“Yes, not sure how I remember it exactly, but I do. It’s so clear.” 

“I need a second,” Michael said. He clasped his hands atop his head and took several deep breaths. He looked nervous, but also hopeful. 

“Are you okay Michael?” Jain asked, her face wrinkled with concern. There goes that prayer again. She whispered “Michael, you are not losing it. I promise.” He took a few deep breaths, finishing his prayer. 

“Before I started to have my ‘delusions,’ a man came to me. He said, and I quote, ‘She is like a tree planted by the water, sending out her roots’… And before he could finish, I was being awakened by my mother. The phrase sounds so familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.” 

They stood there in thickening silence contemplating the likelihood of sharing a dream or delusion several years apart and before ever knowing each other.  

Jain’s library-brain seemed to turn over in her head. “If we both heard it in a dream, years apart, then it may have been something that we have heard in our lived lives. Time for my favorite thing – research,” Jain said, rubbing her hands together in mock villainy.

She was excited at the prospect of putting a rational spin on their shared experience. It was too coincidental for it to be more than logic. Michael nodded furiously at the idea – half wanting it to be logical and half knowing it couldn’t be. His mind kept returning to his delusion of her sinking and the reality of her, the bed, and the ceiling being wet. 

Night sweats were a thing, but the ceiling, Michael thought. 

“It’s a bible verse!” Jane shouted through her grin.

“You’re kidding. No?! Show me.” Michael was only somewhat astonished at how quickly she found it. She is a librarian. “How could I have not recalled that? Anything on symbolism?” Michael asked. 

Jain quickly clicked through each of the web search results, keeping an eye out for keywords. Dream sequences. Shared dreams. Biblical messages in dreams. Water and the bible. There was nothing that she could connect to their experiences, but two things caught her eye. There were two articles – one on religious iconography in nature and one about common names and terms with biblical associations. She focused on the former since the latter only stopped her because of Michael sharing the name of an angel.

Jain read on and on forgetting that Michael was in the room altogether. She was utterly engrossed in just how much of nature was referenced and/or had spiritual connections to the Christian faith and many others. There was an article from a Dallas, Texas newspaper that referenced the 5 trees of the bible. She was unsure if that was relevant as she couldn’t think of trees being a big part of her dreams, but the connection of oak to unwavering belief and righteousness was important. It was Michael’s determination to convince his family he really could communicate with God that had him committed. Hmm.

 “Well,” Michael asked impatiently. 

“Sorry. I am completely engrossed in this. There is a ton of information here. Any chance you’ve dreamt about and/or talked to God near an oak tree? There is something in here about belief in connection to oak trees. I haven’t even gotten to water and its connection with religion. There has to be more than Holy Water and baptism. And that girl…” she trailed off getting back to her reading. 

Michael’s brain seemed to kick into high gear. He sat there, eyes lifted as he tried to etch a thought from his mind. There was something there, but he just could not pluck it out. 

“Abraham,” Michael yelled! “Three angels came to Abraham, ne Abram, by an oak tree. Still not sure where the oak tree comes into play here, but the angels… Wait, your first dream. Didn’t you say that a glowing man came to you and gave you a message about what was to come?

“The angel Gabriel, known by some as the messenger of God, was one of the angels that came to Abraham. The other two were Raphael, associated with healing, and Michael…” his voice trembled and trailed off.  

As Michael spoke, Jain typed furiously. She searched for each angel and their associated meanings. Michael the protector, Jain thought, instantly pushing it aside. She didn’t know exactly why but instead decided to focus her search on water. It was, after all, what had Michael reeling. 

It was also where the girl kept trying to take her. There were too many associated meanings to do as thorough a search as she wanted. “Michael, I think…?”

Michael had started to breathe erratically, then shot up to pace the room. He felt as if everything he’d experienced had brought him to this point. He thought of every life decision he’d made after his long stay. He thought of the role he had always played in the lives of those around him. 

Michael began to mouth a silent prayer, not to Saint Dymphna, but to God. His meds had left him a bit foggy at times, but he felt a clarity shining down and at once emerging from inside him.

“I’m not an angel. I’ve slept with women, although not many. I use swear words sometimes. I have doubts. I’ve tried to fight it, but I doubt. I’m not an angel.” His eyes shifted from side to side as he tried to make sense of it all. 

“Michael, it’s okay. Please take a deep breath. Have a seat. Let me get you some water.” Jain rushed to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. Her hands shook as she walked back to the living room trying to figure out how to help him. What would Michael do? What would he want? 

She said a quick but wholehearted prayer before reentering the room. Michael was sitting and rocking back and forth. “Help him,” a voice boomed from the corners of her mind. She rushed to him accidentally letting the sweating glass slip from her grasp. The cup exploded, sending water and shards of glass upward. 

“Jain, help me. I can’t get there,” a girl’s voice called out.

“Where? Where can’t you get? Where is Michael?” Jain asked. She whirred back and forth looking for him. 

“Please help me! Water! I’ve been searching and searching,” the gray, young girl pleaded. The girl had her back to Jain, but Jain could see that she was soaking wet. All she could think about was Michael. As soon as the thought formulated in her mind, a man appeared before the young girl. He knelt in her shadow, his bright emanation seeming to dry and soothe her. 

Whispering something, he then placed his hand under her chin. Again, Jain could not make him out, but instinctively knew it wasn’t the same angel from her last dream. Not Gabriel, she thought. There was a feeling of familiarity. The girl turned to face Jain.

Recognition flashed across Jain’s face. Jain stood flabbergasted as she stared upon her own countenance. “Take me to the water Jain,” they both mouthed. The two walked down the path hand in hand.

There were no branches or rocks to trip over. There was no fear in Jain’s heart as she walked directly into the water until her head was submerged. She thought of Michael and what he perceived as his fragile mind.

She thought of the fine and almost imperceptible veil between blind faith and insanity, thin and fragile like the tether of dandelion seeds to their stem. Then, Raphael lifted Jain from the water and carried her to shore.

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Looking for more great short fiction? The many contributors and staff at MockingOwl Roost have plenty to offer.

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• A Sighting