The dagger was thin like fishing line, yet sharper than a sword’s broken edge. The village was surrounded with fire. A woman clutched her baby to her breast. When she saw the dagger she screamed. She turned to run and found to her horror that she couldn't move. Looking back, she saw a glove of the deepest black that only the starless night could ever own and it was clamped onto her shoulder. Her last words were “Who are you?” The last thought was “What is going on and why is it happening to us?” The dagger inched closer and closer to her face; lowered, and was plunged straight through her throat.
The infant started to cry; a high-pitched wail that pierced the killer’s ears, making his head hurt. Stripping the dagger out of the mother; he plunged it so deep within the child, the killer found that when he tried to remove the dagger, the blade was a sickening red. The fires spread into the village and death hung in the air; almost palpable. Suddenly, light forced its way through the clouds and rain danced towards the ground, making the flames crackle and sizzle.

Chills ran down my spine as I woke up with a start, and the first thing I noticed was that sunlight was streaming across my face instead of flames. The screams of the mother and her child still echoed in my ears. That dream had been going on for a week. I didn’t understand why I keep having this dream or what it means. Glancing over at the clock, and flinging the covers across the room, I hurried into my clothes. I was going to be late again if I didn't hurry.

All throughout the school day, details from the dream swirled through my mind. The design of the hilt was extremely intricate, inlaid with gold and silver from a land where time has never existed. The blade of the dagger was scribed with runes in a foreign tongue. It wasn’t heavy; instead it was much lighter and more delicate than a butterfly’s wings.