Dream Turns Nightmare

NIGHTMARE

I felt the bullet pierce my chest; oh there was so much pain, I was bleeding gashes and the blood, lord there was so much blood, I need to stop this bleeding, how? I am feeling dizzy, I don’t want to die, please God, let me not die, I need help, I tried to scream, but my voice stuck in the back of my throat, would somebody please help me…
“HELP”, “HELP” and more feebly “help” I woke up screaming, my heart thudding, I was sweating profusely and clutching the heart. Why did I still feel the pain? Turning on the table lamp, I examined myself for bullet wounds, nothing. Not even a scar, simply nothing. It had felt so real, it was only a nightmare but why did the thought give me no relief? The clock showed 3:00 AM, date July 12, 1995. That explained it. Three years to the day since ‘the incident’. I threw back the covers and got out of bed, I knew I wouldn’t be able to close my eyes without reliving the nightmare. I might as well get some work done.

“High hopes”, my mind whispered.
“Well, I could try” I responded.

WHISPERS

I splashed water on my face, walked to the kitchen and made some tea, just like mom always did, with a tinge of lemon. I wish I were home; I am missing the family so much. But I had to battle these demons myself. And so there I was drinking tea at the early hours of dawn. I never drank tea except on very rare occasions when my tummy played up. And it was churning big hoops this morning. Good thing I had a light meal last night or I would be cleaning up floors right this second.

“Usual after the nightmare you just had”, my mind whispered. “You know, you can’t put it off forever.” it continued.

“I know, I know, stop whispering in my head!”


HOSPITAL

Remembering the nightmare was just as bad as experiencing it, only worse. But I was bend on ripping it apart, analyzing and finding clues to the problem at hand. To me that was the only chance at recovery. Yes, my recovery. You see, three years ago, I was involved in ‘an incident’ that I have no memory of; ‘amnesia’ is what the doctors called it. Yeah, right. How can amnesia be selective? I remember everything else, my name, my family, my friends, and my work, everything except three days of my life around ‘the incident.’ Even that sounded weird ‘The incident’, what’s that supposed to mean anyway? But that’s what they called it. The doctors, I mean. No one would explain the circumstances of what happened to me.

“It may or may not come back to you, but for your recovery it’s best if we don’t force any memories back, your brain will return them to you when you are good and ready.”

“Bull Shyte” but my family stuck with the doctors refusing to clue me in.

UNKNOWN

I was left in limbo, hanging in vacuum for eternity. That’s how it feels like right this minute esp. after the nightmare I have had. Not knowing is simply hell. I managed to extricate the bare minimums. I had gone missing the day after I landed in Philly for a long awaited family reunion and was found in the forest near my parents’ home three days later. As to how I got there, is a total mystery to me and probably for the rest of the world! I remember the touch down at the Philly airport, such beautiful weather! But the rest, blank! Every time I tried penetrating the recesses of my memory, I kept hitting this insurmountable wall. It took all my energy and left me exhausted, without yielding a single clue.

CLUES

But I had the dream, a dream that turned into a nightmare at the end. For some reason I knew my answers lay there. I just needed to connect the dots and make an interpretation. The first time I had the dream was two days after I woke from the coma. I was still in the hospital. I must’ve fallen asleep midday and remember waking up a mess. Tears flowed down my cheeks and I tried to relive the moments that occurred in my nightmare, it was too painful and I was forced to give up. I didn’t mention it to the doctors as I thought it would help me bring back those lost days. But it didn’t. Though the dream occurred more frequently from then onwards and made me feel a lunatic, nothing ever came back, I kept encountering the unknown, which frustrated me to the point of no return. Before I ended up committing something stupid, I decided to leave the country soon after my discharge from the hospital.

My parents protested, the doctors expressed concern but I was stern in my decision. I needed to get away, far away from the occurrence of ‘the incident’ and then maybe I could think logically. Then maybe the nightmare would stop haunting me. So I packed and left for a remote cottage in Canada that I inherited from my great-aunt.
To my relief the nightmares didn’t occur as frequently but my memories didn’t return either. Three years later I am exactly in the same spot, no memory, no recollection what so ever.

THE DREAM

I was playing in the tree house with my best friend whose face I can’t recollect for the life of me. We played with our dolls that rarely left my side. We were both seven. Dad had built the tree house on the edge of the forest that had boundaries with our backyard. And it was my favorite spot. I remember spending quite a lot of time there with my best friend. But I couldn’t remember her name, which is weird; because something tells me we were very close. We were happy as kids of that age usually are, planning and living our dreams in the beautiful tree house. That day we experimented with cosmetics and tried all the different hair-dos’. We were sleeping over with permission from the parents. Hotdogs and ice cream for dinner and then Mary Poppins for entertainment on the small telly that Dad set up for us. I was setting the table when my friend decided to put the baby to bed, our pretend baby doll that is. She walks out leaving me behind.

NIGHTMARE

That’s when the dream shatters and I become an adult all alone in the tree house, heart thudding, voice choking and clutching my chest where the bullet had pierced a hole. I feel the pain and the hurt. I also have this knowledge that I would never again see the daylight or have the time to bid farewell to my family ever again. The certainty that I am dying is what wakes me up from the nightmare. But even when my eyes are wide open I know that there’s no point fighting it, I am as good as dead. And the questions that arise in my head every single time “Was this in the past or yet to come?” “Did I pull the trigger?” “Was this a premonition to my own suicide?” , still remains unanswered.

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In response to the prompt from Writer's Island

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