I am very young, perhaps about 10 or 11.
I am running from someone but I am not scared of being hurt or captured or harmed in any way.
The person I am running from wants to help me but I don't want to be helped! He wants to listen to me but I don't want to talk.
I run through rooms and closets and keep closing the doors behind me but he always finds them and opens them.
Finally I find the room I know he will never find me in: my mother’s room. I take the bag that my mother has left for me and hide in the shower recess. I am adamant that he will never find out my secret, why I am sad.
I open the bag that my mother has left for me. I put on the dress that is there. It’s not the dress that we agreed on. It is red with sequins and it is very short. It does look good though.
I open the door and prepare to leave the room. Outside the door there is a parade going past and people are yelling at me. Some are abusing me and others are praising me.
I stop to listen to what they are saying.
An old man in a Santa outfit yells out, “That’s right you little slut! Wear that dress and make us all look bad!”, while another lady who is silently walking with her husband bends down and whispers, “You look very pretty in that dress.”
At that point I was aware of just how small I was in so many ways. I also became aware that some people will always try and hang their stuff on me and no matter where I hide, I will always be found out.
Dream edited for easier reading - JT, 2005
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