Dreams Apart

Dark Dreams

Angela

Nothingness. I was surrounded by the darkness, and the silence was broken by each footstep I took.

Suddenly a door appeared before me, and with a twisted feeling of fear, I froze still as though my body was perfectly curved that way.

My thoughts soon put me up to it, and I slowly reached for the door handle, only to fight for my breath under deep water that felt like knives carved into my skin.

I threw my fists and kicked as I fought for my breath. unsuccessful because I could feel my life slowly fading away.

I finally shut my eyes, only to open them to the sight of the glorious sun that print my skin like hellfire. I shivered with fear and depletion. My blue nightdress stained my skin with dampness that felt quite unpleasant.

The sudden urge to run hit me like a tuck. I ran as quickly as possible and didn't stop for anything. My feet ached and went numb on the cold concrete, but that didn't stop me from running away from my very own nightmare.

My tracks were stopped by the setting that I ran into. It was a gloomy dungeon with blue lighting that caught my attention, but what caught my attention more was the feeling of fluid staining my feet.

I took a deep breath and looked down at my red-stained feet. Red as though it were blood. It was. blood, which flood the floor ceaselessly. I followed its path until I was met with the lifeless bodies of two individuals.

My mother and father.

What was left of my heart shuddered right there. It broke. All of it. It took me almost a second to gather myself and run to them, but my attempt was interrupted by the darkness once again. This time, the darkness disappeared when I opened my eyes.

I was now in bed with a loud gasp.

I have these dreams every night unless I take all the pills that Diana suggests for me. They knock me out with silence.

No more of my parents, no more nightmares, and no more memories It's as though they've been whipped out of existence, and maybe my parents never really lived. Maybe it's always been my sister and I.

I'm four years older than her. She was ten when my parents left, before their deaths that followed three months after their disappearance.

My mother was a well-known writer throughout the country by the name of Maria, who wrote kid's fantasy books, and my father, Julian, owned a bakery.

Diana uses the word "ordinary" carelessly to describe my father's job, but she's wrong.

There was nothing ordinary about my family's second home, and there was nothing ordinary about the goodness that aroused the whole neighborhood from 6am till late.

There was nothing ordinary about his genuine laughter, which echoed the walls of the bakery as I shoved my face with dough. There was nothing ordinary about his acts of kindness to his customers whenever they starved.

☆ Trust a black man to give you a hand when you need it.

My mother met several people through her writing. She met the rich, the famous there and there. Two who were Diana and Ronald.