It starts off with the usual. I am in an unknown room. It’s dark and I feel another presence. Of course it is unwelcoming and sickly so I try to turn on the light to reveal it or scare it away. But the light flickers and the bulb fades its last wired goodness.
I immediately panic. I stumble for the door and as soon as I open it I rush through corridors of sudden flashbacks of little girls in white dresses with dirty hair and foreboding stances in the air. They are brief but frequent, however they only distract not instill fear.
Of course in a movie theatre they have the essence of fear even though many would disagree. I feel it is a loss of innocence through a terrible demise that makes the story tragic and a desperate seek for vengeance always leads to the same conclusion. Don’t piss off little girls.
So the brief encounter of little girls is hushed by a sudden entry into a room with a bathtub. It contains my mother and father. Which is odd because my father rarely appears in my dreams.
My mother turns to me her face shows neither with joy, content, or even anger. There is no expression and I understand something is wrong. I look over and see that my father is floating on his side in the water with no indication of life. I watch the portrait of his head with disdain and incredibility.
My brain makes a pass on itself. It tries to reason with the dream explaining: “How does a well built man drown in a bath tub unless forced by another human being?”. I rule out murder completely because I know it is not in my mother’s nature. So it replaces my image of my father in the bathtub and reveals an image of my father in the pool. My mother stays in the tub.
My brain sheds a more sinister light. It believes that my mother simply ignored my father’s state of drowning, gurgling for oxygen and sudden lifelessness. She simply watched with no expression.
I try desperately to revive him to no avail. His body becomes a balloon. I have the push the water out of him to get him to breathe. I know he has been dead for a pretty long time but I still try to save this balloon of a man. My mother tries to console me by sharing her advice: “There’s still some water at the bottom”. Of course I take her advice. Push out the last strand of water from his legs and attempt a mouth to mouth with a balloon that will never blow up.
It kills me inside to not have the effort. I do not blame her though.
The scene changes. I am in a kitchen. I am running around trying to get things clean and operational. I am cooking and there are dishes everywhere. My mother is still here but she is a mix in age. My brain tries to tell me she is younger but I still see the face of my mother.
I tell her things to do, but she ignores me. She does the opposite or nothing at all. Then I feel the unknown presence again. It’s helping my mother by distracting me. My mother and this presence are in control. I try to release this control and turn the tide by punishing my mother and every instance is futile. I fall short from every threat and curse and beating.
Again the effort with no reward kills me. I wake up.
It is always the unknown presence that frightens me and keeps me contained in this cage. I try to decipher why it wants to harm me, my family and distract me from performing good. Maybe its my inept laziness. Maybe it is indeed a little girl grudged by the living.
Whatever it is, it still scares me enough to find the light.