Not the best

I'm sick of your haunting, sick of your face

I'm sick of your visits; get out of my space

Down the river we flow. The rapids try to overtake our capsule, but we manage to stay afloat. There is not much to say for the others, though. Their ferry ship is within sight. Excitement and worry fill my body; I jump on. Where is everyone? The ship is empty. The water starts to flood around my feet. I jump back to my small boat, avoiding the sharks. How would we save them all, anyhow, with such a small boat? The fear and worry is flooding me like the water is flooding the boat beside me. Soon, we'll both sink.

We're nearing the end of the canal. There, there they are. They are safe!

We're not at the end, though, and “they” are no longer in my mind. Actually, I am alone. Except for him. Are we even on a boat with a canal or a river?

We're discussing something about going somewhere. This is what couples do. Apparently we're still a couple; nothing had changed or happened to end it. We're...happy? I'm happy? With him? I suppose I am. We discuss and go places as everything morphs. We are here, we are there. And then I am awake, bothered by his presence, annoyed and hurt at the same time.

It's been a while.

The pool is dark and brooding like a cloud passing over cerulean stained glass.  Octopi slowly crawl out of the water onto lily pads and dark bunches of slimy green aquatic plant life.  Their eyes are dark, but the small bit of light around the pool reflects brightly in their eyes as they stare into the darkness.  It's chilling, the way their eyes seep into your soul and make you shiver.

A ray of light shines through the water, highlighting dust particles as it creeps through and lands on its subject.  Motionless and calm, she sleeps for the rest of her eternity.

"Sometimes, they dump the bodies..."

I do not expect this from my friend's mouth, but she says the words so matter-of-factly, without so much as batting an eyelash, that I do not question her.  I stare into the water.

Her hair is a soft dirty blonde, short and shoulder-length.  Young.  Maybe she is twenty-seven, twenty-eight.  I cannot see her face, for she lays on her side, back facing us.  She's clad gracefully in a white shirt and gray-blue jeans.  No signs of cuts or bruises are on her body, and I wonder how she died.  I feel nauseous.

I want to look away from the pool, look away from the sight of the lit water and dead body, but the image is burned into my memory.  The way she lays there, motionless, the way the water makes soft rippled shadows on the pool's soft sandy floor...  I cannot look away, and, when I do, it is as if I am still looking.

Panic and fear strike the body; waking is possibly worse than living the dream.  She forever rests on the bottom of the pool, and we will never know her story.

Embellishing a Dream

I had a really freaky dream this morning, just before my alarm went off.  Who knows if my alarm didn't go off...  Anyhow, this is it, embellished a bit to fill in cracks, etc.

You're back at your old house, packing up the remainder of your clothes.  Oh, how you'll miss this place...  Its soft, pale green walls, the squishy blue chair, your cream white bed...

You gently place the clothes you are folding in a duffel bag to be taken with you to the new place and sigh as you look about the room.  Door askew, you spot a woman and young man walking up the steps.  Your heart beats faster.  Panic.  You rush to the door to close it-

She's already got her hand on the door, keeping it from closing.  Heart pounding, you stand there like a deer caught in headlights in the middle of the road.

"He's coming."  Her face is gentle and kind, fresh and young looking for her age.  She is smiling despite the bad news she brings.  Your heart beats harder and faster, afraid now.  "He's coming," she repeats, glancing behind her at the staircase.  Fear pulses through your veins like a speeding car.  She turns and walks away with the boy.

You close the door and lock it, hands shaking, lock jiggling.  You're safe...for now...  You return to your clothes-folding, nervously packing away shirts.  It won't be long now.  You glance over at the door.  Nothing.  Nothing, yet.

Fold more shirts, pack away.  Heart beating like a scared rabbit.  Hands shaking.  He's coming.  She warned you.  He's on his-

A shadow slips from under the door.  It is long and thin.  You gulp quietly.  Damn it, don't make a sound.  He mustn't know I'm here.  Maybe he'll go away.  The shadow moves back under the door and out of your room.  You are holding your breath, desperately praying that he has left.  Your door shakes.  He is hacking away at your door handle with his scythe.

It is ironic that you think, "I wish I was dead right now."  But, in reality, you don't want to die.  You are just frightened out of your mind.  He continues to hack away at the door handle.  You fall to the ground, body limp and unable to hold itself up anymore.  Panic stricken, shocked, afraid...  You lay on the floor, seeing only what is in front of you.  Just small piles of clothes and your duffel bag.  Sound is starting to numb, and the hacking at the door is light in your head.  You close your left eye.  The right is half closed, keeping you only just aware that Death is upon you soon.

The fear starts to fade, as does your mind.  It's only been a few seconds since Death's shadow appeared and you fell to the floor, but it seems like everything has been in slow motion.  You blink, right eye starting to roll back into your head, but repositioning itself back in place.  Everything slow in your brain, sounds muffled.  He's coming.

You lay there, motionless.  She was right.  You must face him now.  The only question in your mind is:  Why such short notice?

*Note:  Despite there being a door between the character and Death, the shadow strangely had a face.  It was as if he slipped under the door for a brief moment.  His face was silver with jagged blank darkness for a face.  If you've seen Donnie Darko, imagine Frank the bunny rabbit.  It was kind of like that...dark, deep...a face, but not a face.  Small and flat, though, and only a sliver was seen when it came under the door.  In such a way, this made it creepier.  No idea why it was able to come through with the shadow under the door, but, alas, this was a dream.  And they can be as freaky as hell.  And this one was.

Dream #1

I'm used to having really strange dreams.  So, this one was nothing out of the ordinary.  The sense of fear, the panic:  used to it.

Basically, I was at my old house.  Things are getting foggy in my mind now, so bear with me.  I remember being at the table in the kitchen, three or four strange people eating with me.  Across from me sat a tall, dark-haired man with scruff, body built like a lean (but strong) construction worker.  His eyes were frightening when he got mad, for they sparked anger.  They must have been a lighter color; I seem to see more expression in those sometimes than darker ones.  He had taken some giant poster of mine and was opening it up and crumpling it, which angered me, and I fought with him on not ruining it, which he did anyhow.  Mind you, this was a dream, so it really does make no sense at all, and, therefore, this part was rather strange.  I ended up being a hostage in my own home.

Fade into another scene that I recall.  Looking out the front window in fear and sadness as this group of people, the ones that had been at the meal, knocked on my neighbor down the street's door, pretending to want to see their fabulous house (It was rather fabulous, so much so that the house, at the push of a button, pulled itself apart to expand to reveal a game room that some of the family members were playing ping pong at, then closed again.) but with the intention of somehow robbing them.  All I could do was watch, scared, with my boyfriend (also hostage with me) for company.  I remember thinking to myself, Why don't we escape now?  But that wasn't possible, because, in my dream, I knew I couldn't, because, well, something terrible would happen.  They'd hunt us down; it wasn't worth the risk.

Fade to another scene.  This scene was more like a feeling.  I was woozy and blacking out, afraid.  I didn't quite understand what was going on while I sat on the family room floor, beige carpet under my bottom, feeling it in between my fingers.  It was like someone was playing with the dimmer on a light, up, down, up, down.  All I knew was fear and uncertainty; something bad was happening.

Fade to following my boyfriend, who was putting on his shoes, afraid that if I didn't reach him in time, he'd leave without me.  I, still woozy, hobbled across the family room, through the kitchen, to the laundry room to put on my shoes, too, and head to the garage.  I wasn't sure where we were going, but I knew it was bad.

Fade to being in the car with my boyfriend, driving somewhere.  We were on a mission to help these bad people.  If we didn't, who knows what would have happened.  In my mind, again, I thought, Why don't we just escape now, take the car and go get help.  Why can't we just run away now?  But we couldn't.

Fade to more driving in the car.  My boyfriend was freaking out.  He told me that we should have told him I was coming with him, we didn't check in on time, you were already late (on coming with him), something something...  I could hear panic in his voice through his slightly angered-through-frustration voice.  All I knew was that I was afraid again, and we were driving back to my house (Going the wrong way, mind you - hey, it's a dream - the way that I'd go to high school each morning those years ago...very odd.).  I told him that I didn't feel good, that I felt that I had been drugged.  He drove fast, and I was afraid of what would happen if I fell asleep.  Everything was still pulsating black and my body felt heavy and hard to control.  What would happen if I fell asleep?  Would I be hurt, tortured?  Would they have more control over me, would it be even more hard to try and escape this situation?

And, then, I woke up, afraid to go back to sleep.