Dream Diary I
I dreamed that I was dying.
I was almost dead, and the stars were spinning around me in the sky. And I couldn’t breathe, and I saw your face, and the breath rattled in my throat, slowly throttling me from within. And I was choking, choking back screams and air, and yet completely immobilized.
And I was dying.
And then there was nothing, nothing at all. The night ebbed into a room as the waves of darkness receded, a lone table and chair in the center of the room. I could hear children squalling, from somewhere not far away, and I knelt in the center of the room, gripped within stone arms of fear. In the calm of complete dread, and fear.
And then you walked in.
Shifting shadows on your footsteps, menace and hatred dripping from every aspect of your twisted smile. I could see the blood dripping from your fangs, your jaws methodically snapping empty as you retched regurgitated air, shades of the walking dead trailing behind you. They had been people once, people I knew. You’d been a person once, a person I’d known. I could see nothing but the demons in you anymore. I could see nothing but demons anymore.
She was chanting, walking the edge of the room and chanting, shrieking and cursing in words that crawled through the air, through my ears and into my skull and gnawing through my brain, words as alien as a green sky and a red ocean, and yet they meant so much, so many things, each more terrible than the one before. Venom, liquid venom in that voice, in your voice, in the screaming babies, in the dying moans that pervaded the entire room, like a smog of despair and malice, suety thick, bogginf my lungs down with every black breath I forced in, as the cacophony erupted around me, dancing to the beat of some madman, the heartbeat of some gargantuan monster from the bowels of Hell, and I clapped my hands over my ears, staring around frantically, and our eyes met. I saw you.
And I knew it to be you.
This, this nightmare, this. This was your fault.
It was always you.
So I woke up.
No more am I slave to your fickle moods. No more am I your emotional punching bag. No more am I anything to you, but you are to me.
You are a lesson, and that is all. You are a failure. A miserable, weak, snivelling coward of a man who never learnt how to treat a woman, how to cherish a girl, how to love a human being other than yourself.
You never learnt to acknowledge, to appreciate. To be grateful.
And I no longer concern myself with any of that.
You were a nightmare. And I’m no longer spending my days sleepwalking through life.
Because I woke up at the right time. And you are still the nightmare you always were. But I am awake.
And you no longer exist in my waking dreams.
You can no longer poison my life. You are nothing, to me.