It was sometime in the month of May. Spring had finally sprung into summer, warm enough to sleep with the bedroom window open and not have to close it early in the morning. But I never slept with the window open due to my weird paranoia even though my bedroom is secure on the second floor. But that night, I did and I can’t tell you why.
In my dream, I had the feeling that I was in a very deep and restful sleep. Behind my eyelids, I saw flashes of white reflecting in what seemed like a pool of water, the kind of shimmery white squiggly lines you would see at the bottom of a swimming pool when the sun is shining down and reflecting into the water.
First, I felt myself floating in its warm wetness, surrounded by it, bathed in it. Then, I felt myself engulfed by it, struggling to keep my head above the surface, wondering why the water suddenly felt so thick and heavy. At that very moment, I realized that I wasn’t struggling in a pool of water, I was struggling in a pool of dark crimson blood. I panicked and looked to the open window to scream for help. If I could just yell loud enough, maybe someone would hear me and come to my rescue.
But when I opened my mouth, I had no voice.
The more I tried to yell, the more I struggled and the further I sank. All I could do was stare at that open window, wondering what I could possibly have done in my lifetime to deserve this ending.
I was going to drown in such a gruesome way.
That’s when I felt a presence at the window. I didn’t see anything or anyone. All I heard was what “it” said with absolutely no words.
“If you don’t open your eyes now, your world will end.”
And just like that, I was awake, my eyes wide open. I bolted upright in my bed as if I had just downed 10 cups of coffee. I rubbed the cold sweat from my face and neck, feeling as if my heart was about to jump straight out of my chest and fall on the floor next to the bed.
I was in such a panic that it took me a while to calm myself down. And when I finally did, I thought that I might never sleep again.
I grabbed a handful of the sheets and threw them back to free myself. My hand felt damp and so I ran it across my pajama top in an attempt to dry it off. But the stickiness still lingered.
And that’s when I realized that the palm of my hand was not covered in sweat at all.
©2017 Marquessa Matthews. All Rights Reserved.
Originally posted on September 21, 2015
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