I sleep to dream. I dream to escape. To experience. Sometimes my dreams are fantastic creations pulled from my imagination, yet sometimes I think I dream other lives of this soul: past lives, future lives, concurrent lives. Potential lives. I dream I’m a woman chosen to journey to an alien planet because, unlike most of my kind, my heart is not filled with hate. I dream I’m a girl raised to the brothel, but I fight for every scrap of power and autonomy I can grab, and even though my heart is broken I force a place for myself and others like me in a world that sees us as objects. I dream my strong white wings bear me aloft on seaside breezes as I soar above the shining city by the sea, a place from which I was long ago banished, and oh how I mourn the loss of my brethren and the sound of those crashing waves! I dream, and I wake twenty, fifty, a hundred years later and just eight hours older.