Entry for September 21, 2009

Last night I had a nightmare. I don’t recall that I’ve ever had one of such intensity and horrific detail so to be termed a nightmare…

I was in a large, old house which was surrounded by green, tree-dotted downs. Besides me, there was one other person in the house: a thin older woman. She slept in a room below the top floor of the house, even though there were plenty of rooms below.

I don’t remember much of the action between the scene setting itself up and just a few minutes before the night fell. Dreams tend to do this, you know? You fall asleep and then suddenly you’re in the midst of a dream, you somehow know the setting, the people, and what is about to happen. It’s like somesort of pre installed information that comes with the DVD-player-of-dreams in your head.

Both thunder and lightning pierced through the ebony night. There was probably rain too. I had something in my hands … a knife? I don’t remember. I was ascending to the attic, trying to look for something. It was almost midnight. I was having trouble with finding it, though. A deep, petrified fear clung to the innerwalls of my body… that dread coating my throat but I never thought to turn back.

Suddenly, in the lightning flash the woman was there with a candle. “What are you searching for?” she hissed

I don’t remember what I said.

“Fool!” she rasped. “Don’t you know that Marie Antoinette died in there?”

Thunder roared. I looked up to a wide, open door, and understood: I was about to kill myself. I walked up the incline to entrance. The knife in my hand was no longer a blur.

Terror.

Lightning.

I reached the edge of the threshold. A noose hung down from the highest ceiling. There was no floor.

Lightning.

I woke up. I tried to stay in bed, but my roommate’s blanket looked like an enlarged clown’s head. I couldn’t escape. I slid out of bed quickly, grabbed my Bible and went out into the hall where there was light. I read a bookmarked passage in Habbukuk about the might and power of God.

I prayed a little bit, relieved myself and then slid back in bed. I fell asleep again, holding my crisscrossed arms Bible against my chest.

So you didn't do well on that lit test again, huh? ...your silence speaks for itself. I don't know if I should be angry with you, dissapointed in you, or pitying you. If anything, I just shake my head and sigh. You aren't sure what to do about it, are you? ... To study more? Obviously. How are you going to pull that one off?

Forgive me, I should not be condescending with you or slave-driving. Is there anything justified about the grade on this quiz? ...again, your silence tells all. But this goes deeper than just the quiz, doesn't it? This goes with your uncertainty, "figuring it out," actually budgeting your time, stress, being overwhelmed...

 Time is waning, it always is. Just understand that.

But I think I know what I feel about this, now, about you...

I'm dissapointed. I know you can do better, and this was feeble attempt to try to get by. Never do that again. It may kill you. Perhaps it already has.

Looking out for you, as always,

~Dauntlez