I dreamed last night that my mom, brothers and sister and I were in the old house in Tennessee. We were either unpacking or arranging and there was a glass topped coffee table upstairs in the loft with picture books in it.
But there was a demon in one of the things we had brought and I couldn't quite reach it before it popped into something else. I finally cornered it in one of the picture books and found the page it was on. It looked more like a newsprint page and when I held it, it crackled and sparked, shocking me.
I started ripping the page in half, in quarters. I don't know who was screaming more, me or the demon.
Then I realized that I'd never really get rid of it just by being angry at it. My rage could never expel it.
I had to love it.
Love burst out of me and dissipated the demon.
I shredded the paper, just in case, and put it in the trash can.
My mother was in the kitchen, polishing jars. She'd noticed nothing.
Neither had anyone else.
And then I woke up.
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