The smell of rain on dry earth always made her think of her dreams. Not the ones you had where you wanted to be a firefighter or an astronaut. The kind that came for you in the middle of the night, betrayed you, tore you apart. Those were the dreams she feared would come when the rain set in. Dark storm clouds would dot the sky and she knew she had to get inside. Outside was where the dreams could get her.
She had brief glimpses of fields in the cracks between the clouds. Tall grass brushed against her, sending her into giggling fits as she tumbled toward… something. She never quite made it. The flowers would lose their color, the fields would fall away to a steep cliff and she’d find herself on her horse again. What was she running toward? Or was it running from? She shook her head and didn’t think of it, though the scent of wildflowers still filled her nostrils. It mixed with the dirt turned to mud and if she happened to stay outside for too long after that, she always found tears on her face that she didn’t remember crying. The rain disguised them, at least, but always left her confused. Had there been a farm and a field of flowers where she used to live?
That was the terrifying part. No matter how much she tried to convince herself, how much she pushed those thoughts away, they kept coming back. And what scared her the most was that she wasn’t sure if they were dreams at all.