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Now she wants to write.....
“Please! No, no, NO!” I wake up with sweat dripping from my brow. I wipe my forehead and begin to cry very softly. Every single night it is the same dream. The same horrific dream that denies me peace during the night, the same dream that wakes me up and frightens me so much that I cannot force myself to sleep again. I am fearful that my mind will continue to drift to the place I hate so much, a world of my own imagery and imagination, of my own creation.
Images of the dream still cling to my mind like dust on an old relic. I try to get up, but my limbs feel as if sandbags are weighing them down. Wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my nightgown, I bury my face in my hands. I tremble violently as more tears emerge from my eyes, and I throw my hands down, gripping the bed sheets so tightly that my knuckles turn white. Standing up proves to be laborious, so I stumble as I attempt to place one foot in front of the other. Regaining my balance, I shuffle over to my desk where I keep my computer. I begin to type out my dream, at least the bits I can still recall, the ones I didn’t choose to erase from my memory.
It is very strange, but for some reason, in the darkest of places, there is always a faint light. A light with a soft, welcoming, yellowish glow that makes me feel like a moth attracted to a flame. I always walk towards the light, reaching out to it. The light encompasses my hands and face, its warmth covering me like a favorite childhood blanket.
It always happens the same way every time. I reluctantly leave the safe halo of the light’s security and continue to wander. Eventually reaching a crossroads, I can either choose the path by the lake or the one by the forest. As in my previous dreams, I choose the lake, but as I get closer, I discover it is in fact a mirage. A fog begins to appear, and in the fog a figure stands, blocking my path. He is an ominous figure in a black cloak with no shadow. It’s as if I’m the only thing that regards its presence. He is shrouded in a misty haze that causes his features to be indistinguishable. He is nothing more than a silhouette…a shadow in my way, a phantom of my fears. Then I think, is it anything more than a shadow?
Without warning, the land we are on begins to fold over upon itself and closes in, making a narrow corridor around us. My knees start to tremble and my eyes grow wide. My heart pounds like the sudden downpour of rain during a storm. With sudden urgency I realize I have to get past him, hoping I will find safety soon, or I will be stuck in here forever. The walls will keep closing in, and I will surely die.
Panicking, I run towards the dark figure and easily pass through the black fog with no trouble, but as I do, I begin to feel a sense of deep loneliness and sorrow, as if my pores are absorbing the dark feelings of the mysterious shadow. I swivel my head around in desperation and my heart becomes heavy as I keep looking for a way out, but the end keeps getting farther and farther away.
Suddenly, my mind becomes vacant and my body listless, and I let myself float off into oblivion. An invisible force drops me off in a cemetery, right in front of a monument covered with ivy and moss. I could barely make out the fading words engraved into the aging stone, but as I step closer I can faintly read the inscription. When I am finished reading, I step back in shock and emit a startled gasp.
“A monument, in a cemetery, all about me? That must mean I’m dead? No, it can’t be!” I shake my head in denial. “I’m right here. I didn’t die!”
Taking a deep breath, I walk around the mausoleum and suspiciously regard the art and sculptures around me. Finally, I arrive at a huge painting. It shows a girl with auburn hair and pale skin. She’s cringing before a man with a mallet in his hand. His bloodshot eyes and wide grin is the face of insanity. I look at the painting opposite the other one and I see the girl again. She is posing for a portrait and she has a content smile on her face, her trusting eyes staring back at the observer.
“Who is she?” I ask myself. Then I remember. Isn’t this monument dedicated to me? Looking at the first picture again, I realize that the girl is bleeding and she is dead. Oh, how I wanted to destroy that painting, for I recall what happened. I finally remember who the girl is. The girl is me.
I snatch my hands away from the computer and take a long sip of water from the cup on the nightstand. Attempting to shake the images that linger in my mind, I roughly rub my temples in frustration, then wearily push the chair away from the table and stand up. I sigh heavily, walk back to my bed, and sit down on the soft mattress.
“Well, at least it’s just a dream.” I try to make myself feel better, but it doesn’t help at all. I pull my knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around my legs.
“Three more hours until morning,” I calmly mumble. “Just go back to bed.”
I lie back down and pull the sheets protectively over myself. I close my eyes and drift back to sleep, but as I do, I can see a faint yellow light glowing before me.
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Art Work by Wolf Girl ( A 16 Year Old I Happen to Know) (Read 36352 times)
