»Daily Prompt: Just a Dream
You’re having a nightmare, and have to choose between three doors. Pick one, and tell us about what you find on the other side.
Ever since I was little, I have had very vivid nightmares. Sometimes I would know I was dreaming but was unable to wake up, and sometimes, I was so caught in the action, I would scream out loud or get up in my sleep.
This part of dreaming, that you have no control over your actions or whatever is happening, is the most scary to me and so for this dream, the one in which I have to chose between three doors, I am again a spectator.
I see myself facing those doors, and I immediately feel a lump in my throat. something is not right and I want to warn that person I see, I want to warn me not to proceed. But I have no voice to scream, no body to move and stop her/myself, I only have eyes to watch me open the door from the left, (I always chose the left side, even when I’m awake), and stare at the horror behind.
There, behind that first door, lies, on a bed with white spreadsheets, my mother, dead, shot in the chest. Both I and the me I’m seeing in the dream stare with disbelief and feel our entire body cramp. The only thing is I don’t have the body to feel, I only have the eyes. In shock, the me that’s moving, sees a note near our mother that reads in a perfect calligraphy, “You were late”. A sick joke,a twisting of the phrase I always greet my mum with. And just as I think the movable me is going to collapse in pain, another door appears in the room and she proceeds, against my muted screams, through it.
I, the observer, am terrified by what could be behind that second door, but the me I’m seeing seems to be in such a shock, that she’s inert, moving slowly but surely. She steps into the room and I breathe out in relief to see that it’s just the room the dream initially started in. But it’s not so easy, apparently I must suffer more.
I see myself chose the second door, and enter into a room identical to the first, only this time, one the bed, there lies my sister. The pain that I feel stabbing me in the chest, me and the movable me, both, is excruciating. “What did she do?” I scream, but no words come out as I only have eyes to watch but no voice to scream. There is a note here as well, and in the same exquisite calligraphy it says “You didn’t bring me anything.” As before, this is a horrible reference to the inside joke me and my sister share every time we see us other after a longer period of time. I see myself collapse on the floor, besides the king-size bed now bloodied, and just when I was hoping everything come to and end, the scene with the door repeats its-self.
In my heart I now only there’s no stopping to this horrible nightmare and prepare myself for what I now I’m about to see. The person most dear to me, the only person that ever understood me completely and supported me, no matter of her personal opinion, the person I know I’ll find lying in the third room, my beloved grandmother should not be there. “She’s an angel, and angels don’t dye” I hear my thought. But still, I go in, and there she is, still as if asleep, but undoubtedly dead, since the red spot on her blue dress cannot be mistaken for anything but a shot wound.
This time I see myself scream, but not out of horror, but out of pure despair, at the thought that I am alone in this world, and that the only person I truly cared about wasn’t there for me anymore. This time, there was no running to my grandmother’s chamber, this time there was no warm hug awaiting me there. The me I see keep screaming, screaming, screaming, and her voice slowly becomes my own, and I scream as well with all my power, to eventually wake up, still screaming and drowning in sweat.