31 Justicia, Justicia

In his dreams,Kris was at his laptop, trying to write on his blog.  The curser on his screen flashed idly beneath a black-and-white logo of Justicia, the blind goddess of Justice, with her sword in one hand and scales in the other.  But he was not at the coffee shop, not at Maggie’s place.  He was at a desk in the middle of the humid subterranean locker room beneath Sacred Heart, frustrated at words that refused to come.  He heard a sound that had become familiar to him now, but which even so was more unsettling every time he heard it.  This rustling beckoned him up from his computer.  But then it was not a rustling sound any more, but the sound of something heavy blowing, perhaps a flag.  The low, claustrophobic ceiling of the locker room grew to become a great vault; the lockers all went away.  Kris found himself alone in a large, albeit still dirty and hostile, space.  He looked at the logo once again, and then the logo was a statue, two, maybe three stories tall.  But in fact, it was not a statue at all, but rather a great woman, a monument of real flesh and blood, standing motionless and unbelievably tall.  The Sound now was her tunic, billowing in a hot wind from an unknown source.  Another sound, a heavy dripping, echoed around the chamber.  Kris looked down; a stream of blood ran around his feet.  He followed the trail to its source and saw that it was falling to the floor from the point of Lady Justicia’s sword.  The vision frightened him; he did not know what its meaning was.  The Lady’s hair was red, and it blew in the breeze as well.  Kris’ view fell then upon her scales.  One of the dishes held a large red letter A, and this tipped the scale completely to one side.  As Kris watched, something like a large mirror bisected the device exactly at its pivot; the mirror divided the entire great room.  And then there were two Justicia’s, two Krises, two swords, two pedestals.  But there was only one scale formed by the reflection, but still miraculously out of balance.  A large red symbol of Omega was placed on the opposite dish, in the reflection, and the scales at last came into equilibrium, wavering gently as it came to level.  A voice asked the dreamer, “Have you understood what you have seen?”  He had not.  Kris was as lost as ever.  “No!” he called to the Lady, “I do not understand; I don’t understand at all!”  There was desperation in his voice; this was maybe his one chance to discover what it was that he was looking for.  The Lady spoke to Kris, “The meaning of the vision is this . . .” Another sound interrupted her, something electronic and sugary and rude.  He could only catch broken phrases of her message, “. . .has always been we two . . .”  The odd little calliope tune  broke in again.  “. . .must take the sword if you . . .”

Kris implored the Lady, “I can’t hear you!  Say it again!  I can’t. . .”

And then he woke up.  His phone chimed an 8-bit tune as it buzzed up against the bottle of Gran Marnier.