An Introduction

Here it is; it’s the dream again. The same dream I dream every night. I have had not a moment’s peace from it since they found me in the woods. Ten weeks later I’m in recovery, still no idea who the hell I am, and still dreaming this same dream. The therapist they set me up with at the hospital says it must be just a metaphorical state of my memory. I cannot help but think it’s more. It’s too familiar, too remember able. I’ve learned to hate it. It’s like someone is telling me everything, explaining the entire situation to me, but they are speaking another language, one I know very well, but for some reason I have simply just forgotten.

The grass at my feet is so lush and soft; it tickles my feet as I walk. Surrounding me are enormous trees, and everywhere I look I see flowers of all shapes, all sizes, and all colors. This beauty of this place is almost suffocating. To the right I hear what I think is a stream, or creek. No, wait, I know it’s a creek, I’ve spent time playing in it’s waters, splashing and laughing. At this point in the dream I start to feel something coming back to me, but then the pain in my head kicks in again and I move forward. I have to keep going, as it is the only way to stop the knife from digging into my skull. Something is pulling me, guiding me towards, well something. I just don’t know what. The trees are whispering to me in words I cannot place, I cannot recognize. They sway quicker and quicker through the breeze urging me to move forward, to go faster through these woods. I’ve been here before, I know I have, it’s too vivid for it to be just a figment of what my therapist calls “my over active imagination.”

I keep walking, my bare feet moving swiftly through these same paces, the same steps I take every time I close my eyes. I begin to pick up my pace; until I stop abruptly at the same path I stop, every time. It’s cobblestone roadway looking so out of place in this strange land. It seems to be a dirt road that simply fades into the delicately placed stones. They sparkle in the sunlight and look at the sky above me between the trees. Blue, intense almost blinding blue. The dream becomes more real when I can feel the sun warming my skin. Then the urge comes again, just as I begin to get comfortable, I have to keep going. The stoned pathway is hard on my feet, I much prefer the grass, but its pathway is the only way I can get where I am going. I mustn’t stray; I simply cannot stray.

I continue on the path, for I don’t know how long, when suddenly things begin to change. It’s as though I am being pulled to go further, yet something else is yanking me back. Fear pulls me back, away from the path. Briefly I consider stopping and going back into the field. That same something, however, tells me to keep going. I have to keep going. The air becomes cooler as what was once a beautiful day begins to turn dark. The blue sky fades to shades of black and gray, the warm, golden, sunshine being dampened by gray storm clouds. No longer do I hear the babbling sound of the creek or the happy chirping of sparrows. I hear nothing but the roar of thunder that only works to get louder the father I travel. The only light brightening my path now is the occasional flash of lightening. I begin to run, I have to get where I am going, though I have no idea where the voice inside my head is pulling me.

I pick up my pace even more now, and the trees begin to turn wicked. Their branches and vines snag and tear at my dress. For a moment one catches me and I break free. The road is now covered with thorns and they begin to cut my feet. At this point I can feel my agony, it is getting stronger with each step but I have to keep going. The pain is so much less now than what it could be if I stop. Something is coming for me; it’s dark cloud and frigid grasp getting closer and closer to catching me. I’m running faster than ever now, and I see the light at the end of the tunnel of darkness. The clouds are parting and in the mist of sunlight struggling to break through stands my shelter.

The massive brick castle stands before me, its towering pillars of stones and glass shimmering like a beacon of hope. If I could just make it inside, I have to get inside. Instinct leading me I run to the gate blocking my way before the fortress of safety. I rush and with all my might push open its enormous doors open and dash through them. Just as the dark cloud begins to tear its way into the safety of the village the doorway slams shut, blocking out its evil.

This is the part where the dream gets even more odd. Feeling of relief hits me as I turn to face the village in front of me, it’s shops and market stalls surrounding the castle. Everything is in place; everything is normal looking, until I look at the ground. Lining the streets are bodies, men, women, and children. When I first began to have this dream I thought the people were all dead, this gruesome scene tearing my heart out. Now, however, after previous inspections, I realize they are all just sleeping. Sleeping? Why are they all asleep? It cannot be possible, not even in a dream, yet here they all are, lying on the ground, their minds in an unconscious state, most of them looking completely comfortable in their sleep. I know some of them, I am not aware of how exactly I know them, but somehow they are familiar to me.

Ahead I see my destination, the tallest tower of the castles, its walls covered in thick green ivy, and windows filled with multi colored glass. I begin to run again my heart racing. I have to get up there. It is so vital that I make it to the top of that tower, as quickly as possible. What is up there? This is the point in the dream that always seems knew to me, it is as though as soon as I fall back asleep my mind quickly restarts at this point in time. The doors of the castle open for me, a voice calling me, practically screaming for me to come and find its source. I pass what I am assuming is what they would call the “throne room,” two massive chairs sit directly in front of me, their king and queen sitting slouched over in each. The king resting his strong chin on his hand, his crown still placed securely on his head. The queen with his golden blond hair rests on her arms. Both, like the villages, stay completely asleep, in a never changing state. Briefly I pause to gaze at their faces, these people are special to me, there is some sort of relationship there, but I still cannot seem to keep my mind from blocking the memory.

I cannot stay here and linger, I have to get to the top of the tower. The voice in my mind is louder as I approach the spiral staircase leading to the tower. The first steps are always easy for me to sprint up, but towards the middle of the tower I always seem to get weak, as though a weight is being shoved down onto my body.

“HURRY!” The voice begins to scream; “QUICKLY NOW!”

I gather my strength and work to push forward. There is a door directly in front of me. Its wood looking aged and worn, unlike the rest of this world, the door is always aging. I shove the door open and enter into the room it is concealing. The room is large, with paintings and draperies hanging on each wall. The window I had seen from below is creating a multi colored glow all over the room, showering the room in colors. Now the voice has gotten softer, nearly silent, as I slowly turn towards the four-post bed in the center of the room. Crimson and burgundy curtains drape over the bed shielding its inhabitant. My breathing slows, but my heartbeat quickens. I can hear its pounding so loud that my head begins to hurt again. With shaking hands I pull back the curtains of the bed to see what secret it beholds. I look down at the sleeping woman and my heart stops.

There I lay, peacefully asleep, separate from the world in my own slumber. How could this be? How could I be in two places at once? Petals have been placed around my head, intermixing with my golden blonde hair. I bend down to touch it, and I can literally feel its softness. Could I have a twin? Is this what my dream is telling me? No, that’s not it. The woman lying so silently on the bed is I. There is no way it could not be. In my right hand is a rose, still beautiful in its blood red coloring, despite the fact that it is mostly frail and withered. Breaking my attention from the rose and back to the unconscious version of myself lying in the bed I lean down, the sleeping me pulling me closer mentally. The petals of the rose begin fall and the rose starts to become bald, each petal making the sound of a cannon as they hit the stone floor. No, it cannot lose all of its petals, it just can’t. What do I do? Frantic I begin to search the face of my sleeping self for answers, anything she can say.

“Please! Say something!” I cry, “Wake up!”

Just as the last petal lands on the ground, the sleeping woman opens her eyes, no, my eyes, my deep green eyes, and screams.

“BEEEP! BEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEP!” The shrill beeping of my alarm clock wakes me up and out of my nightmare. Wiping the sweat from my brow I try to take comfort in the thought that this may be the last time I dream that same scenario, but in my heart I know that the comforting thoughts, are futile. As soon as I drift off next, I will be thrust back into that strange world, yet again.

 

Reviews

[Rob Walsh]

I absolutely loved this. I love the ideas of dreams in stories that effect the character just like this dream will forever effect the girl from this point in the story and forward. You did a really great job and i felt like i was right there with her seeing everything.

[Laerwen Mincks]

Thank you very much. I've always been fascinated by the fairy tale of "Sleeping Beauty", but unlike most little girls, I always wondered where she went while she slept. Traditionally the fairy tale states she was sleeping for what could have been years, and what if time moved differently in her "fairy tale" world, maybe years passed, all the while only days were passing in our world. I need to keep working on this piece, just need to get the time. Once again, thanks for the review.