99 Red Wishes: Prophecy, Loss, and the Unraveling of Fate, Stepping into the Unknown. How to Have Faith.
- Sonya Herrera
- Jun 5
- 11 min read
Yesterday morning, I threw some charms, and two stood out—one was a galloping horse, the other, a cloud. Then I did another reading, and the galloping horse came out again, this time with the moon. The message was clear: something hidden in the clouds, in me, something I couldn't yet see, tied to this galloping horse. With the moon, I could tap into it—with emotion, with intuition. Moving forward by trusting what I feel.
It reminded me of a dream.
November 2, 2024 – The Dream
I was at this house, some kind of gathering or party, when a rich guy showed up with his entourage. It was nighttime. We left, came back, and chaos had erupted. His guys approached, said he’d come for me. I climbed onto the roof of a black car, reached my arm through the sunroof, and they grabbed hold. “Hold on,” they told me. Then the car took off.
Everyone around me was screaming, "Don't go!" But I wanted to. And so I did.
The whole dream, I barely had any clothes on—something like a dancer on stage would wear.
They took me to a mansion. Daylight now. Massive windows stretched across the front and back, clear enough to see everything happening outside—like I had a perfect view of the world beyond, yet I was safe inside.
In the neighborhood, there were more mansions. People sat on the stairs that led down the hill onto the road. I remember vividly—five redheaded children, sitting on the steps, backs turned, their faces unseen.
Then the fog rolled in. Thick, consuming. Creatures lurked within it, turning feral, attacking. They slammed against the mansion’s windows. I thought of the people on the stairs. When the fog finally pulled back, I stepped outside—but the five redheads still sat there, unmoved, untouched, as though nothing had happened. Still I only saw the back of their heads.
The fog still lingered elsewhere, and I started walking through a place that felt... otherworldly. The air was heavy, dangerous—you couldn't see where the beasts were coming from. Eerie, and surreal. Daylight stretched across it all.
I had to pee. Desperately. Found a bathroom structure with an impossibly high wall. But the beasts were coming fast, slipping through the mist, unseen until they moved. Then I caught a glimpse—horses, white, spotted red. The shade of red matched the redheads' hair. A golden glow radiated from them.
I climbed the wall to escape. One horse leapt, reaching the top nearly missing it. I faced it head-on—fierce, intense, on the brink of attack it seemed. I stared at it straight in the eyes.
Last night, a video flashed across my screen:
"The Mist—Why We're Wrong About the Ending" by PolterGibbst.
I’d seen it pop up before. I thought—okay, time to watch, see what it’s trying to tell me.
The narrator starts, "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I'm crazy. Just like everyone thinks Mrs. Carmady is crazy."
And I thought—yeah, just like they think I'm crazy.
He talks about the bigger picture in Stephen King’s books.
Yes, yes—there is a bigger picture in these stories I'm writing.
"You'll see how all these stories are connected in some way."
Yes! Yes, they are!* My stories—are all connected. And they are Happening.
Then, he describes the storm rolling into town. The mist. The destruction.
A woman named Mrs. Carmody in the film calls the mist death.
And suddenly—*OMG—the fog in my dream!* The windows around them. They could see what was happening in the mansion—*just like me*—watching through the mansion’s glass that stretched the length and heighth of the wall.
Most people stayed inside the store, except for one woman. She had to leave, had to find her kids.
I thought—*does this connect to the five redheads?*
Something from the mist—tentacles grabbing the bagger dude, the one who volunteered to unclog the generator exhaust.
More chaos in the store. Then—Mrs. Carmady, praying in the bathroom. At first, normal. Then she shifts—*"They can't all be bad,"* she pleads. "Can't Some of them must be saved?"
And I’ve thought this myself.
Because I realized—I have this power. Or maybe—it’s not mine. Maybe it’s something passing through me.
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Then the narrator says, "She is being influenced by a power bigger than her, and it's giving her power over the people. What she's saying is actually fixing to happen. She was right. Now do you believe me?"
Oh man, that hit me hard—because this is the conversation I’ve been having. With my family. With my close friends. Or at least, the people I thought were my family and close friends.
Before something horrible happens, I feel it. Days before, anxiety strikes—heavy, relentless, in my body, not my mind. And I’m not an anxious person. I don’t worry about things that most people do. But this feeling? It’s different. Like blades shooting through my veins.
December 2024—South Carolina.
I was staying with a friend and her family. Her son flew in from LA—a surprise visit. Brought me a gift. Two new video cameras.
December 20th—anxiety crushed me. I told my mom. See the pic of our conversation.
The house was empty. Everyone had gone. While I was there, I heard noises—footsteps, slow, deliberate, coming down the stairs. I panicked, called my friend, stepped outside to let the dogs in. No one was there. When she got home, I told her—something was coming, something extreme.
After a day and a half, the anxiety lifted. I was hitting it off with her son—we just clicked. Stayed up talking most of the night. I liked him.
He went back to LA on December 22nd. We texted. I told him—I see messages behind everything. They tell me the future.
Then, a weather notification. Be safe on your travels this holiday.
I sent it to him. See? It means I’ll be traveling over Christmas. But how?
I had no money. No car. No way to leave.
December 23rd—red sprites flashing across my Facebook.
That evening, something told me—*tell your friend you like him.* But I hesitated. It was her son. And people always shame me for who I’m drawn to. But my friend knew. She knew younger guys were my type.
So I told her. Told her I was scared to admit it. She laughed—confused, but not angry. "I don’t understand it," she said. "Good luck."
The next morning, I was babysitting her daughter. Told her I’d see if her mom could take me to the store—I wanted to get her a Christmas present.
But when her mom and dad got home, they stormed in. Yelling.
"Get your stuff and get out."
So I packed. Fast. Dumped belongings into the trash because I couldn’t take them on a flight. Grabbed two suitcases and my bag and walked out the door. Didn’t even get to say goodbye to the little girl who had been with me every morning.
I started down the street. Told my mom and stepdad. They got me an emergency plane ticket—Christmas Day. Back to Idaho.
The son—the one I liked—said he felt bad. Thought it was his fault. But it wasn’t. He didn’t make the decision. Still, he pulled away. Got irritated. Then—blocked me.
All I know is that Storm Warnings were flashing in South Carolina, and LA mysteriously caught fire.
The conversation with my mom—
"See, Mom, do you believe me now?"
She refused to acknowledge it. Refused to see that I called it.
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I arrived at my mom’s house and got the message—*don’t unpack. You’ll be leaving soon.*
I told her—but I had no idea why.
Then—the anxiety again. Sick with it. A full day and a half. I told my mom. Told my stepdad. Again—red sprites. And then I was fine.
I worried about bringing my kids over. Something felt off. But while they were there, everything crashed. A huge blow-up with my stepdad—I had to leave. Mom drove my kids back to their dad. Dropped me off at my son’s place. But I couldn’t stay. My oldest didn’t want me there.
Again, my mom refused to acknowledge that I had seen it coming.
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March 31st—surgery.
Found myself back at my mom’s house, recovering.
Started applying for jobs with housing—just to have a place to go. But deep down, I knew. If I worked for someone else, something would happen. It always did. The last six years had proven it—every job led to something worse than when I started.
Then—I got an offer. Sun Valley.
A week before I left, I told my mom: I’m getting warnings. If I go, something’s going to happen.
"It’s like I get there and immediately get fired," I said. I got messages, I’m about to get burnt by the sun."
Well—I got there.
Got fired my first day.
The first time I’d ever been fired.
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Also—borrowed money from my parents for the trip.
Crashed headfirst on my scooter. Twice.
Busted my $250 phone.
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Back to the video.
They placed candles in the windows, their light drawing massive insects—crashing, smashing, pulled toward the glow. Just like in my dream. The Beasts.
Then the narrator says, "Mrs. Carmady called this."
The insects landed on her—crawling, pressing against her skin. But she breathed through it, untouched, unscathed. Just like me—when I stared into the dark.
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Interesting that they were insects—because yesterday, one of the first videos to pop up for me was "How Nuclear Flies Protect You From Flesh-Eating Parasites" by Kurzgesagt - In a Nutshell.
It begins with a revelation—there’s a parasite called Cochliomyia Hominivorax, which literally means Man Eater. A metallic blue-green fly with red eyes.
They lay eggs in open wounds especially in cattle. They lay eggs in the flesh rounds and are devoured by their larvae causing more wounds. More death.
So scientists built radioactive parasite factories—breeding these flies, exposing them to sterilizing radiation so they couldn’t reproduce. Then, they started flooding the environment with sterile males, so that these flies would start dying off.
Because I got the message I have to be burned by the sun, I wonder—maybe something parasitic in me is being eradicated. Sterilized. Maybe it's that I'm a man eating parasite, consuming them and I'm the one who needs burnt by the sun. I need men who are sterile and I can't produce my offspring, my wishes, my dreams with, until I'm no longer a parasite.
Wishes are babies, children, eggs are wishes and dreams.
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Not only that—but another video popped up that morning:
"99 Red Balloons Wasn't Just a Song—It Was A Warning A Closer Listen" by Moments in Music.
The narrator says this song was meant as a warning.
*"You and I in a little toy shop
Buy a bag of balloons with the money we've got
Set them free at the break of dawn
'Til one by one, they were gone
Back at base, bugs in the software
Flash the message, 'Something's out there!'
Floating in the summer sky
Ninety-nine red balloons go by."* By Nena
Something innocent—children playing with red balloons.
But there were bugs in the software.
*"Panic lads, it's a red alert
There's something here from somewhere else
The war machine springs to life."* By Nena
Panic. War. Corruption of innocence.
And red—red is the warning. Red indicates the loss of innocence.
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*"Ninety-nine Decision Street
Ninety-nine ministers meet
To worry, worry, super-scurry
Call the troops out in a hurry."* By Nena
War was declared—factories aligned, building by the billions these radioactive flys.
The operation is turned Herculean. But something fails. Cochliomyia strikes back.
We try to be the heroes.
*"Ninety-nine knights of the air
Riding super high-tech jet fighters
Everyone's a super hero
Everyone's a Captain Kirk."* By Nena
But back to the store. Back to the trapped people.
The narrator says, *"Go ahead and Continue to doubt.
She also spoke about the doubters. More and more started to believe her."*
Will more and more people start to believe me?
The insects—eating the people. Just like the flies.
She used this chaos to grow her flock. To draw followers. She had ascended—from crazy Mrs. Carmady to The Prophet.
Is that how I’m going to be seen?
She wants to protect the group.
Some military men arrived, talking about the Caroway Project. One of them said he believed there were other dimensions, other worlds, and they had spilled into this one. They tore a hole through, and now things from another realm—Todache Space—had leaked into ours. A place crawling with creatures, wild and unrestrained.
And I’ve seen this before.
I was told I had **opened the gates of hell**, and demons were running rampant on Earth. It it because, After everything I saw in the dark—because I know **how to see** it, because when I looked creatures in the **eye**, they **noticed** me—was my ability to **see** what was unseen the thing causing a **rip**?
A gate **opening**?
My brother told me I looked like the gate keeper.
In the video, Todache Space was filled with those creatures. And I was told I had to **do work for the devil**, hunting demons. I’ll find out what that means. What it looks like.
The narrator says, *"Someone very powerful and very bad shows up. He wants someone to do his bidding. And he's operating through Mrs. Carmady."*
And suddenly I wonder—is this what I was seeing in my dreams?
The force that was trying to possess me.
The dream with the **Emperor**, controlling them. He spoke a **trigger phrase**, and in that instant, I snapped out of the trance. Something in me **took over**, moving through me, and just like that—I was **safe**.
I got out of the **colosseum**. Out of the **Emperor’s control**.
The world began to crumble.
Then, Mrs. Carmady called for a **human sacrifice**. A **child**.
Olly **shot her**.
And right then, I saw it—the **loss of innocence**, just like I had said before when speaking about the color **red**.
Those **innocent red balloons** had started a war.
*"Ninety-nine dreams I have had
Every one a red balloon
Now it's all over and I'm standin' pretty
In this dust that was a city."*
Again—dreams. Children. **Wishes**.
Wishes so pure they don’t realize they’re about to be **lost**. Innocence **wearing red**, announcing its shift—its descent into **power**.
After Mrs. Carmady died, some people **made a run for it**, escaping into the mist. They got in a car and started driving. But the mist **never ended**.
They ran out of gas. Nothing left they could do.
So the man with them **shot everyone**.
And then—just **two minutes later**—a **tank** rolled up. Had he waited, just those two minutes, he wouldn’t have been the one to **kill them**. His innocence now lost
Everything Carmady predicted **came true**.
Not by **her hand**, but by **something else**. What is it?
The moment it the people died—the mist started disappearing.
The narrator pointed out the truth: *"The point of the movie is that saving the people who were going to die was hopeless all along."*
From the moment Mrs. Carmady **spoke death**, it was already **sealed**.
Two weeks. Two minutes. It wouldn’t have mattered.
The people she marked **died**.
The man—he had **lost his innocence**.
And I wonder—was Mrs. Carmady **speaking through me**? Is that why I **know** these things?
Is that why people call me **crazy**—because the **voices in my head** tell me I am?
The parts of me that tell me I must **conform** and hide and suppress the parts of me that are different, that scares people. The parts of me that insist I should be what the world wants me to be.
Maybe I know the **truth**. Maybe I see the outcome. But I keep trying to control it.
Holding onto **hope**. Trying to **save** what I already know is **meant to die**.
*"Ninety-nine dreams I have had
Every one a red balloon
Now it's all over and I'm standin' pretty
In this dust that was a city.
If I could find a souvenir
Just to prove the world was here
And here is a red balloon
I think of you and let it go."* By Nena
It was hopeless the whole time. Letting go of **hope**. That was the plan the whole time.
Hopelessness is a **lack of faith**.
Hope is **doubt**.
And faith? **Faith is belief.**
If you **hold onto hope**, you **doubt**.
If you **let go**, you **trust**.
Trust in the unusual ideas. Stop controlling the outcome. Step away from the Emperor. Let the world crumble. Step into the unknown—with faith.
By Sonya Herrera
✨🔥🏵️AWEnomALi🏵️🔥✨
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