I only remember the last dream I had last night, though I vaguely recall that there had been other dreams before it. As dreams normally are, it was very strange.
I was living in a very large house with very expensive looking furnishings. My husband and children were there too. An evil creature was coming for us. We didn't know what it looked like or what its powers were. All we knew was that it was demonic, that it had some sort of magical power, and that it wanted all of us dead.
We knew this because an angel had appeared and warned us. The angel was dressed all in white and he carried a very large sword. He told us that we had to use our gifts to vanquish the demon that was coming for us. He didn't tell us what our "gifts" were, only that, if we looked inside ourselves, we would know. He told me the name of the demon (but I can no longer remember what it was).
I immediately thought of books. I am good at reading. A set of very old books that were on the bookshelves drew my attention. I knew I had to read them. I knew that somewhere in them lay the key to saving my family from the demon.
There were a lot of books. I skimmed through the pages because I knew we didn't have a lot of time. It felt as though I would never finish the books, never find the information we needed in time. Just as I heard the roar the dmeon made in the distance and knew we only had moments before it would be upon us, I found the information I needed.
I had to write. I had to write a story about the demon and, in the story, I had to write the death of the demon. My writing would be made real and the demon would die.
I started writing. I could hear the demon getting closer; I could hear the beating of its huge wings as they wooshed through the air and the occasional roar it made was coming ever closer. I could hear people screaming outside.
I told Robert to take the kids to the back of the house to hide, and I kept writing.
Then I woke up.