3 dreams


1. Night again. I am restless; I toss and turn. My skin itches. I brush my hands across my body in revulsion and fear, trying to ward off the prick and bite of the insects I feel crawling over me. I feel sick. I don’t know if I am awake or dreaming. The sensation continues. I focus on the movement, recognizing the signs and strokes. Someone is writing on my skin. I feel the itch and scratch of vowels, consonants. I strain to decipher the symbols; I can barely make out the words. In the morning, the sheets are crumpled, violently, blurred with blood and ink. There are missing letters everywhere.


2. The corridor is empty, and long. I am searching for her. Fluorescent lights throw a naked glare, leaving dark hollows, deep shadows. The walls are rectangles of dull grey-green tile. I am trying to find her in this wretched place, this place we have been before. I remember her eyes, terror-stricken, as I pleaded with her to talk to me. “Something bad is going to happen tonight,” was all she said. I didn’t know if the danger was real or imaginary. She could not be persuaded to say anything more. She had to be very quiet; the voices were screaming inside her head. And then she was gone.


3. He is here, again. Here. I reach out to touch him; he is flesh and blood. I inhale the wild scent of him. He is hot-bright, emanating light, casting away all my darkness. Above me, his skull is blinding white. I reach for him, my arms encircling his skeleton. His bones crack and pop, his eyes are black sockets. He is inside me, so deep inside me he is part of me; he inhabits me. My body disintegrates into waves of energy as he takes me further and further into bliss, nothingness, the dreamless sea. I do not want to return. He says “not yet,” breathing the words into my mouth, bringing me back to consciousness.


4. I wake up crying. I don’t know why.






You must be logged in to post a comment.

%d bloggers like this: