The Baba Yaga Controls The Conversation

"But if I do, there is no way you will be certain that it is the truth I tell."

Just like that I could see the whole conversation playing out in front of me. Somewhat like the flashes and insights into the future I had, the glimpses on first touch with Rachel and Eddie and Blake and Lucas. Myself and them in possible futures, never happy but satisfied at least, content.

But never truly happy.

A glimpse at the future of this conversation was a bit like my glimpses into those futures, but not at the same time. I wasn't taken out of my body and I wasn't stuck into that life. I didn't experience it, even if I knew how it would go.

That Baba Yaga would control the conversation, deciding what we said and what I learned. That it would be drips and drops and hints at truth. That it would be close to, but not everything I wanted.

And that I would be left wanting, without answers or satisfaction or anything close to what I needed.

And, quite frankly, that just would not do.

It's funny to feel yourself get riled up in a dream. Everything seems to happen in slow motion and without any of the sort of physicality that you usually associate with it. Don't know if it's just me but when I get mad or frustrated so much of that sensation comes from the actual sensation. The racing pulse and the roaring chasm of rage that roars up from me, rumbling and then erupting out of me like I just cannot keep it within me. I feel it in the tightening of my muscles and the twitch that patters behind my right eye. I feel it in the way that colors almost shift into a higher spectrum, in the endorphins and adrenaline that makes sweat prick out on my brow and makes it impossible for me to sit still.

In this dream I get none of that, instead only having the sensation that I ought to be raging. The sensations are still there but it's like they're referenced, told to me rather than experienced directly and maybe it's because of that fact that I feel so much like I'm pushing through mud, barely able to make headway or gain any ground.

I feel like I'm being pulled back, even as I'm rushing forward, and so in the end all I can manage to say is simply...

"No."

Quiet, but not unassuming. Not squeaked out. Strong and firm and insistent as I glare into the space where her eyes ought to be and make my stand.

"No."

The fact that she's pleased gives me pause, but only for a moment. And it gives me the strength and the impetus to push forward that little bit more.

"No I don't want that. I don't want obfuscation. I don't want half truths. I don't want that 'I'm not ready for it' lie because it is a lie.

"Don't get me wrong, I understand part of this at least. I know that you're not human, that you're something beyond but maybe a bit less than godly. Still I get this glimpse of a vast and fathomless bottom to you and it chills me to the core and I know that even a passing glance at the wholeness of you would be enough to break me.

"Yes, there are things that I'm not ready for. Truths and certainties that I cannot and will maybe never be ready to accept. But at the same time I know that you know more than you've told me and I know that it would be helpful, that you would be able to help me.

"Dear god I know that you would be able to help me.

"I need it. I need to know. And yes I'll never know if you're telling me the truth or if you're just a figment of my imagination and just me talking to myself or if any of this is real.

"But it'll be something. And that's not nothing."

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