Nightmares

by c0ral

They are glimpses into a future you have long since learnt can not be changed. They are hellish, because there is always blood and things you wish you could banish from those corners of your mind forever. They are cruel, because they leave you wide awake at one in the morning, with your temples throbbing and fear gnawing at you.

Your eyes fly upon just as lightning flashes across the sky and thunder booms overhead. Your heart is still running like crazy.
Dreams. Again. But you preffered to refer to them as nightmares rather than 'dreams' like everyone else did. They are becoming more frequent as days peel by. They are glimpses into a future you have long sinced learnt can not be changed. They are hellish, because there is always blood and things you wish you could banish from those corners of your mind forever. They are cruel, because they leave you wide awake at one in the morning, with your temples throbbing and fear gnawing at you.
You have never had anything aside from those nightmares, when sleep finally overcomes you despite your desperate attempts and umpteen cups of coffee not to succumb.
Tonight, the rain drowns out the thumping of your heart. When the room flashes with lightning once more and when claps of thunder try to wake you, you are shaken back to reality.
Right.
You've got to jot them down again.
They have meaning.
It takes you a while to get up until you finally convince yourself to get up and out of bed. The rain reminds you of when Rose was little, of how she would crawl into your bed during stormy nights, trying to hide from thunder. But she couldn't because thunder is always there when there's rain, whether one likes it or not. You two would talk for hours at the end those nights, until sleep finally got the better of her, and her speech became more incoherent until she was really just babbling on and her head would bob up and down with drowsiness until she finally drifted off, still holding her mother's hand.
But she had gotten over her childish fears by now.
You wish things could go back to the way they once were. But you can't help that as the years flew by, they distanced you from Rose, until the gap became so wide that no number of sleepless nights spent giggling under bed covers could bridge it. She had shed all respect for you years ago, when your addiction had become to apparent for you to hide, when she had become faced with drunken mothers every night, when most of the litter in house became martini glasses and empty vodka bottles. That was when the nightmares had started.
Sometimes you wish it could go the other way around. That when you turned to liquor and coffee to hide from the nightmares, it would end up a long night of talking with an understanding Rose, who would chat with you until you both were lulled to sleep and then, maybe, the nightmares may have been more forgiving for the night. But these are simply fantasies. Even the dreams are more realistic than these childish wishes.
With a heaving sigh, you get out of bed. Rummage through a few drawers for the journal. Pick up your favourite pen. Swipe your phone from your bedside. Then you trudge, head still throbbing with pain and mind still flashing with the horrible images you saw that night, down the stairs, past portraits of wizards and into the kitchen. You make your way to the counter, plop down on a chair, open your journal and begin to write.

'Thunder & grey skies, it is raining but it's not normal rain. It's black. Some kind of building, a castle maybe. A girl descends from above.' You pause, straining to remember the details of her face. 'Blonde. She is radiating some malavelont power. Possibly dark. She stares at some bodies on thr ground. Goes inside. Lots of blood and bodies. She goes on. Meets a boy. He talks in English but she's speaking some kind of weird language. Tells him to follow her. They go up to the castle where she first landed. He recognizes one of the bodies there and some kind of, ' You pause again, trying to find a fitting word, 'monster appears. They ready for battle and,' another pause, 'the boy is stabbed.'

You shudder, and don't really feel like recalling anything else after jotting that down. You decide to take a break.
You open the fridge and settle for some leftover pasta from last night. As you pop it in the microwave, you pick up your phone. He must be awake as well. The dreams usually happen at the same time.

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timeausTestified [TT] at 1:52
TG: dirk
TG: dirk are you there?
TG: cmon dirk, i know you're up
TT: Pretty obvious I am.
TT: Sup.
TG: same as you, i guess
TG: waking up at 1 in the morning screaming
TT: Yeah, pretty much the same deal here.
TT: Wrote em down yet?
TG: eh most of it
TG: we should get this stuff in order soon
TG: saw some blonde and a kid getting stabbed
TG: you?
TT: Oh, the usual.
TT: Blood. Guts. A corpse. Dave getting owned by a sword he kicked.
TT: kid needs to step his game up

The microwave lets out a shrill beeping. Your pasta is done. You take the dish out, grab a fork and take a bite. Delicious

TG:
TG: you're too hard on him
TT: Well, you're too soft on yours?
TG: oh? and how do you think i should improve that?
TT: Easy
TT: hand the kid a sword
TG: great
TG: dont have to worry about that though, she's got knitting needles
TG: so if trouble arises she could probably just poke one through her foe's eye
TG: why couldnt she have gone for guns though?
TG: last i heard, jake was saying he'd teach jade how to handle guns
TG: wonder if he got around to that
TT: Probably.
TT: The guy just fucking ditched us anyway.
TG: yeah..

You realize none of you bring up the possibility that Jake could be very well dead. He was an old man. But the two of you had been too close to him to bring up stuff like that now.

TG: on a completely unrelated topic
TG: don't you think that it's going to be happening soon?
TG: i mean, what we see in the dreams
TG: usually its all just blurry and we dont remember but it's getting clearer now
TG: and i cant help but think whatever's gonna happen is going to happen soon.
TT: At this point, it's pretty obvious.
TT: We're all bound to get doomed soon.
TT: And these kids are probably going to get the worst of it
TG: yeah..
TT: Well, it's getting late.
TT: Gotta go.
TT: And, hey, do me a favour.
TT: Don't drink tonight.
TG: well, i'll try
TG: bye
TT: Night.

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timeausTestified [TG]

You finish off your pasta with two more bites and dump the plate in the pile of dirty dishes building up. You'll tend to those in the morning, but for now you slide out of your chair and take your journal with you. You'll finish your entry in the morning. And maybe brainstorm some ideas to prevent it, too. You've had to do that a lot. You even have a huge lab located below the house.

You make your way to your room and lie down in bed, with the journal in front of you and pen still in hand. When you realize nothing's coming to you, you sigh and pick up that novel you've been reading. When even that begins to bore you, you decide to hit the hay, no matter how reluctant you are to. Dreams usually come once a night, but even now you still hate sleeping.

*

With your eyes wide open, a wild look plastered upon your face and your whole body sweating, you wake up.

It was Rose.

You don't even bother to pick up your journal again; you rush straight downstairs. You need to forget.

It was her, it was her, oh my God.

You fly into the kitchen. Vodka, red wine, tequila-an endless array of drinks are welcoming you with open arms. Dirk told you not to. But you pour some wine out anyway.

Oh my God, oh my God. Rose what happened to you?

You drain the glass. Then another. Then another. Your head is starting to feel fuzzy.

Rose.

You keep at it, downing glass after glass. Soon, the already half empty bottle has been drained. The images have stopped reeling through your mind. It's over.

Crash!

A flimsy motion of your elbow throws the empty bottle down. You jump back in surprise and curse loudly.

"Mom?"
Rose is standing at the kitchen door. There is disappointment in her violet eyes. She looks at the smashed bottle on the floor. Then she looks at you. "Mom, have you been drinking?"
For a moment you think of the Rose from your dream-odd gray skin, evil just radiating from her. Then you remember it's real Rose. Your brain is still muddled. You slur out an incomprehensible 'yes' to her question.
"Mom, it is 3 in the morning and," she sounds exasperated, "you're already drunk?"
You nod.
She sighs. "Well, come on."
You walk with her to your room. You lie down in bed. She leaves. You've disappointed her.

You go to sleep a little more soundly now, because, this time, there will not be any dreams.

Rose...