The Lost Souls

The Nightmare is Real

I dream. I'm in darkness. The walls are close, if I stretched out my arms, I could touch them. I must be in some kind of corridor, there's neither exit nor an entrance. I started here, I could walk backwards or I could walk forward. There is no left, there is no right. It's not my house; it feels like a place I'm not supposed to be in, like a restricted area. Inaccessible. I feel wrong standing in it. But I'm stuck here, I'm dreaming.

Why am I here? The question seems to bubble up in the air, untouched but hovering above, watching me. Looming over me, tall, awkward and undeniably present. No answer joins it above me. I take a step forward, into the obscurity, the mystery, unsure of what I will find. I look behind me, a powdery footprint lingers, like there really is talcum powder on the soles of my feet. It's ridiculous, but I still check in case. Nothing.

I have no choice but to walk, what a boring dream it'd be if I stood in this one spot till reality pukes me out again. I take a slightly hesitant footstep into the black, and then when nothing swallows my foot, another one. Mist seems to swirl around me, outlining my pale skin in the darkness. It's nothing like the fog that comes to my window sometimes. This fog is mysterious, unfriendly, like it's hiding a surprise. Something will probably jump out at me, that's how nightmares normally go and I'm all too familiar with them.

Something slices my feet, I feel it, I've been stabbed with a hundred needles. It's sharp, the pain like the sharpness of a raspberry; it cuts deep and fast, throbbing to a rhythm. Even though I'm dreaming, I feel it as if it's really happening. The frightening part of a nightmare is how it can barely stray from reality sometimes. It can feel so real you begin to question yourself.

It feels like glass, the way it crunches into my feet. Liquid pools at my feet. Is it blood? Was the glass from a bottle perhaps? It's too dark to see. The blindness is irritating. I wish I could see at least what's around me. The bare minimum at least. I have no control over where I walk now, something is making walk, as if the blindness wasn't enough. It's like the question which was looming over me, tall and awkward is being bold and pushing me further into the unknown. Maybe it's showing me the answer. Whether it is or not, it's painful, this path of glass isn't going away. It stays, as bold as the question, lying under me, waiting patiently for my feet to come into contact with it. It's almost torture. Only because I can feel the pain, I can hear my red-soaked feet screaming. And there's nothing I can do for it.

I'm pushed forward, roughly, a person pressing their hands into my back violently. I'm pushed into a window ledge, a window gaping open. A curtain rod hangs above, no curtains to dangle from it. I'd like to believe curtains decorated that lonely rod once. But I know I'm supposed to be looking out from the window. Something wants me to see what I'll eventually see. At first nothing, but light is coming from somewhere, that is what I somehow know.

I can't help but think it all looks eerily familiar. The trees that are on the outskirts of the barely visible forest make me feel like I've walked past them before. The street closest to me, I've walked there too. As my eyes find the light source, I feel the grim feeling settle into the pit of my stomach. And as I look into the opposite window, I can't look away.

It's my house. There are candles, glowering inside, the curtains pushed back. A girl, she stands there, staring out into the darkness. She turns her head in my direction, robotically.

*

A strangled sound deep in my throat, ripping its way out. Almost like a retch. The sheets around me suffocate me; I claw them out of the way, kicking them off my bed. My palm against my throat, short gasping breaths erupting from it. My shoulders tense, my toes curl. Cold sweat coats my face, especially at my forehead. My back is damp, my shirt sticking to it. I put my throbbing temples between my knees, breathing slowly and deeply inhaling from my nose and exhaling through my mouth. It was a dream, I tell myself. It was a dream. It wasn't real. I'm okay. I'm okay.