The Dream

The dream was trapped there as it slinked its ugliness across my frontal lobe and arced through convoluted synapses until it finally came to rest in the long-term memory chamber.  It wasn’t going anywhere, rather like food poisoning to the stomach or some unimaginable horror branded into one’s unsuspecting eyes.  The dream lay there waiting like a venomous snake in a basket or bush waiting for the unwary to brush up against it again so it could rattle my reality in addition to my slumbers.  It tortured me like a deep furrow from out of which I could not climb yet I could not remember the dream, only feel its creepiness lingering and I could not escape.  I was truly haunted by a nightmare.

I tried to conjure up a replacement thought or emotion.  Butterflies?  Too fleeting.  Balloons?  Colourful ones that float softly among the clouds . . . Pop!  Pop!  Pop!  They break, each one scaring me with its noise.  This isn’t working, I tell myself.  I begin to sweat with flashed of the dream coming to me.  The balloons were like guns, not stopping.  I try to run but my feet are like cement, plastered to the ground with fear, holding me fast like a fly stuck to flypaper.  Now I know how the little creature feels.

What was in that conglomeration of fleeting images that flashed like a zoetrope through your slumbers, I ask myself, mystified?  Were you falling from the sky so you kept waiting for the ground to come up to smack your physical body with its reality? No?  What then?  You must confront demons that torment you.  Let them linger not to fester but expose them to the light so they can dissipate like a ghost sprinkled with Holy water.

Was it a raging fire thirsty to consume everything in its path, including flora and fauna and ultimately — you?  I see you are trying to search those little used areas in your brain . . . don’t forget to look up and to the right.  It’s there, I know.

Who is this person talking to me in my head, I ask completely bewildered by it all?  Why is he there?  “Go away!” I scream at him mentally, “Go away and take that damn festering dream with  . . . you.”  The last word almost dropped out of the air completely as’ the dream’ flashed an image both in my head and in front of my eyes.  It wasn’t a dream.  I gasped, completely horrified now.  I am haunted by reality where I find myself a figure on a zoetrope going ’round and ’round with bright flashes of light exposing everything I don’t want to see or remember.  Flash!  Flash!  Flash!

The End


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