Sarah Connor doesn't believe in fate (changeourfate) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-10-22 18:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, sarah connor |
Who: Sarah Connor, Narrative
What: Dreams about The First Terminator.
When: Monday, afternoonish.
Where: The Connor Residence.
Ratings/Warnings: R for the general dream content.
Status: Complete.
Listen.
Listen, and understand.
That terminator is out there. It can't be bargained with. It can't be reasoned with. It doesn't feel pity, or remorse, or fear. And it absolutely will not stop, ever, until you are dead.
Nightmares were not uncommon to Sarah. She’d had them on and off since she was a young girl, and as she’d gotten older there were more and more things to have nightmares about. It was among the reasons she often had a hard time sleeping at night. Especially since the events in Nebraska.
The kids were out for the day, and she’d curled up on the couch to watch Food Network and take care of the laundry. It was one of those constants of life that was good for getting your mind off things like your daughter having crazy dreams and being in the tabloids. The problem was that it was monotonous, and she was tired enough that she’d soon drifted off into a spontaneous nap.
What filled the time afterwards was a dream that started off hauntingly familiar, though the clothing and time period seemed to be different. But it only got worse the more and more she dreamed it. Instead of a serial killer, it was called a Terminator. Kyle was different, and he had a lot to say. Machines were going to take over the world, drop nukes on everything and then hunt down the human race. Judgement Day, he called it.
He told her about her unborn son, who was destined to save the world. He told her about a lot of things, none of which she’d been prepared for. And everyone she’d known had died. That’s what they did, the machines. That was the one perfect thing they were built to do.
In the end, it had killed him, too, and she’d smashed what was left of the machine into a hydraulic press. But that wasn’t the end, because they’d shared a night together. It was rushed, and impulsive but just like her real life, Sarah would swear they’d loved a lifetime’s worth. And that son, that man destined to save the world, he was Kyle’s. She’d decided to live off the grid and raise him in secret, so that the machines wouldn’t come for him, too. Ever at the back of her mind was the fact that the machines would still be coming for them.
John Connor gave me a picture of you once. I didn't know why at the time. It was very old - torn, faded. You were young like you are now. You seemed just a little sad. I used to always wonder what you were thinking at that moment. I memorized every line, every curve. I came across time for you Sarah. I love you; I always have.
Sarah awoke to reality with Kyle’s name on her lips. She’d tossed around a bit in her sleep on the couch, and laundry was everywhere. The dream lingered on at the edges of her consciousness, to the point where she’d almost reached a hand down to rub at her pregnant belly. Tears were running out of her eyes, and she ran her hand up into her hair as she forced herself to get her emotions under control.
That had been years ago. Reese… Kyle... was dead. It didn’t matter how he died, it didn’t matter if the dream was about killer robots from the future, the facts were that no amount of dreaming about him would bring him back. She had to be practical about this, and she had to be strong.
The sentimental part of her won out over the practical part of her, though, and she rubbed at her eyes as she got up off the couch and headed for her bedroom. The closet had a box in it, and she slid it out, then picked it up in her arms and carried it over to the bed.
This was her one box, the one she allowed herself when she moved from place to place. Usually it was stuffed with books and the few photos she’d ever managed to get of John and Cameron, and she never bothered unpacking it. The box was customarily heavy, weighed down not just by the books but the memory she carried at the bottom of it.
Kyle had been off duty when the killer had tried to take her. He’d been wearing a trench coat, one he’d wrapped around her when she’d gotten cold later on. She was still wearing it when he died, and she’d never thrown it away. Folded and wrapped in tissue paper at the bottom of the box, she’d carried it with her from place to place like so many other things.
Sarah lifted it out of the box and gave it a long sniff. It had stopped smelling like Kyle years and years ago, but she liked to pretend anyway. It was one of only two things she had left of him. The other was John.
The moment for nostalgia and sentiment soon passed, however, as the rest of what she’d dreamed sunk in. Cameron had had a dream where she was detached from everything. A dream where she had to protect John. They were both in that dream, and someone else had said the dreams were shared.
This was her son. Her son, who in some dream place was supposed to be the savior of the future? Did she want her son dreaming about that?
“No. No.” Sarah shook her head. She gently folded Reese’s trench coat back up, and put it away in her box. Then she marched to the living room and started collecting her books off the shelf.
They had to get away from this place. It wasn’t safe.