My Christmas present, straight from your homegirl who understands that family parties are scary. Disclaimer: Hammy not mine. Neither is the Coldplay lyric from Viva La Vida.
~~~
Sleep isn't automatic.
It always happens gradually
Deceiving
You don't even realize
Your mind is
s
h
h
t
t
i
n
g
d
o
w
n
Floating
Suspended in a land
Only you
Witness.
Odd things happen in dreams.
Blackness takes forms
Squeeze your eyes hard enough
And you can tick moving lines
In nothing.
I embrace my mind's oddities.
Steering my ship is a simple task
I have control over
The bright lines and spirals
Not everyone has such a vessel.
REM is what non-dreamers call it.
Storyless pictures form
Tales of confusion
Storms drawn on sails
Pulled in close against the wind.
Those words meant to shock us into awe.
Looking at something enough
Carves it into your mind
You see it while passing
The lower decks.
They describe what we pretend to know.
Flashes of silent movies
Even the mind-made waves
Crash without sound
Against the worn wood.
But they lie.
Patterns trail across my vision
In falsely elegant lines
Filling the sails beyond
Their capacity.
I can't bame what my mind builds.
Dizzy circles and
Drunk squares
Zooming in and out of frame
They trap me in a spinning hell.
Some thoughts don't take form in words.
Shapes without shape
Multiply and divide
They grow bigger and smaller
Yet they don't move at all.
They create nightmares of show-and-tell.
Vertigo without vertigo
Claws scratch at
already tousled sails
Masts crush in clinging spears.
My dreams are soundless shipwrecks.
I tear at the sails
Lips closed in unvoiced screams
Rain and cold break my skin
My hands grab splintered shards
Of broken wheels
My hands don't bleed
Yet I feel them bleeding
My lungs don't make a sound
Yet it aches as they cry out
Lightning flashes. My ship breaks apart. The sails rip completely of the fragmented masts.
I open my eyes.
Flash a flickering
S.O.S. into the
darkness.
It fills as far
as my peripherals
pan across.
my muscles ache
from being curled
up in a tight ball
for so long. My hands
sting. I can't glance
at them. My mind
won't
let me.
You know the feeling
when you wake up
from a nightmare and
your mind shuts down
all of your nerves
and says "don't
move.
Your demons will
come back."
You're awake.
You're in reality.
Your brain says
"Stay there. Or
it
will hurt you."
I reach for the
light by my bed,
I see my arm
stretching out.
Nothing
stops
me, nothing hurts
in my vision.
Reach and twist.
Reach and twist.
Reach, twist.
Reach, twist.
Reach, twist.
Reach twist.
Reachtwist
Reachwist
Reacwist
Reach
Click.
Light.
My arm falls. I glance at the palm. Red lines score the clammy surface. The skin is broken, but not bleeding.
It hurts more that way.
I sit up sharply. Better to get it over with. My hips ache from the jolt.
I feel disgusting.
Shivering I wrap my arms around my waist. The fabric of my t-shirt is damp sticking to my skin like a too-tight glove.
My other palm throbs.
I pull it away from the sweaty shirt. The same lines most this time, mark the skin. I stare at both palms. My eyes trace every wrinkle, every indent, every tick and callus. There's so many lines. Too many lines.
Immediately I see snarling circles squares snapping at my eyes the lines jump out at me boring into my eyelids in jagged broken cracks
STOP.
Please.
I'm breathing hard. I feel my lips, my tongue, my teeth saying a silent, broken prayer, repeated over and over again.
"no no no no no no no no no no no no no"
I taste salt, different from sweat. It trickles in a straight line, from the corners of my eyes to the corners of my mouth.
Breathe, breathe, but not too fast.
Control it.
It's
not
real.
Right?
I'm not sure
anymore.
~~~
Z
z
z
z
"I used to ruuuuuuule the worrrrld, seas would rise when I gave the word, now in the..."
Womf
Wha?
"Mmmmmmmgh." I roll over and flop my hand around until it smacks my phone. I turn it over and wince, squinting my eyes shut against the brightness.
Someone's calling? This late?
I swipe Accepter and immediately put down the phone, plunging me back into the relieving darkness.
"Qu'est-ce?"
"Laf!" A lilting, high-pitched voice squeals from the speaker. "Ça fait tellement longtemps! Ça va?"
I rub my eyes, trying to shake off the sleepiness. "Adrienne?"
"Oui!" My childhood friend squeals again.
I sigh loudly so she can hear me. " Es-tu sérieuse, Adri? Maintenant? Il est-" I flip the screen again and check the time- "deux heures du matin. Exactement."
"Oh." I picture her on the other end twirling a small black curl right behind her ear: A nervous tic she adopted from her mother.
"Écoutez… peux-tumerappeler? S'il
tuplaît?" God, I sound high.
She sighs dramatically. "D'accord. Deux heures d'après-midi."
I can't help but smile. That still leaves me at eight in the morning, even if she calls in the afternoon. "Quatre heures, Adri."
"Trois heures."
I can hear her smirking. "Fiiiiine," I moan in English. "Bye, Adri. Je suis tout à vous."
"Je suis tout à vous."
She hangs up. I turn the phone off and roll... back...
over into...
my pil
z
z
~~~
Ssssh.
Ssssssssssh.
Surrp.
Ah.
Breathe. Breathe. Bre
Light touch.
I screech and whirl around, hand swinging half an inch away from Angelica's nose.
Peg?
She looks exhausted, yet elegant in her peachy pajamas. My sister never isn't elegant.
You okay?
I tap my ear and set the glass of water on ths counter.
"Yes, I'm good."
"You're lying." Her hand slides beneath her chin.
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are." She crosses her arms stupidly, then unfolds them. "You look-"
She pauses- "a-f-r-e-i-d. "
I flare my hands open across my chest. "Afraid."
She copies the gesture, storing it in her memory. "Afraid," she repeats. "Afraid."
Afraid.
That's all it amounts to.
One simple word
a catch-all term for
nightmare.
Nightmare doesn't even
get one word.
Bad dream
is the official title.
How pitiful.
Merciless hexagons gnashing sharp teeth-
NO.
Angelica turns, muscles tensing until a hand in a fuzzy teal cuff reaches around the corner and flicks the light switch.
The hallway floods over with warm white light. I catch Eliza's expression-a wince at the sudden brightness- before she rubs her eyes with the sleeve of her robe.
What's going on? It's late.
She looks to Angelica for explanation. Whatever the latter says makes my sister's brow furrow.
"What's wrong, P-e-g?"
"I couldn't sleep."
Eliza's beautiful features soften. "Bad dream again?"
My eyes land on a blotchy ink stain lining the base of my palm, not making eye contact. I nod.
"P-e-g, I think you need to see someone about these dreams you're tired," Angelica says tiredly.
"Having," Eliza corrects. She presses both hands into her chest, fingers pointed in towards herself. "Are they more like dreams or h-a-l-l-u-c-i-n-a-t-i-o-m-s?" She's always been better at it than Angelica. Her fingers move fast, accidentally switching m for n.
I swallow. "The second one." I don't feel like spelling out "hallucinations". "But I haven't had one for a long time."
"You should still see someone," Angelica says firmly, crossing her arms as if the discussion is over.
She's not stable, Eliza says through clenched teeth.
No, wait. Three syllables. Unstable.
I never said she was unstable, Angelica shoots back, glaring at Eliza. Both of them have a narrowed expression.
It's times like these when I'm reminded of my sisters' beauty.
Angelica is all high cheekbones and long neck, regal features that match her lithe frame.
Eliza has a cheerful, rosy face that could either be called "sweet" or "full", depending on the person saying it.
I'm the shorter of the bunch, with neither Eliza's slender angles or Angelica's willowy form. I'm flat-out hourglass. No part of my body is even close to a straight line.
Sharp pinch.
I slap Angelica's hand away.
What?
Neither of you listen. I'm going to sleep.
She looks irritated. Night.
My sister walks off, hips swinging.
Eliza rolls her eyes and yawns. "We should go back to sleep, also." She steps over to the pantry and pulls a small bottle from the shelf. Opening it, she takes my hand gently and shakes a little pill into my palm. "Here."
I raise an eyebrow.
"M-e-l-a-t-o-n-i-n."
Right. I always wondered where she kept that stuff.
I set the little tablet on my tongue and swallow a gulp of water. "Thanks."
Eliza nods. "I'll turn off the lights. You go ahead."
~~~
The motion lights at my door flicker when I shut it. Plopping down on my bed, I reach for my sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. I trace thick, smooth lines on the creamy pages.
Three for a triangle, four to a square. Rounded, imperfect and unbroken circles.
They say you should talk about your nightmares to erase them from your memory.
But there's other ways to erase.
Sleep isn't automatic.
It always happens gradually
Comforting
You accept that
Your mind is
s
h
u
t
t
i
n
g
u
p
Floating...
~~~
Author's Note: Whew! I went through a lot of editing for this chapter, so I hope you liked it. It's based off of a real dream people have known as "the geometric nightmare" or "the infinity nightmare".
Usually it is a shape of some sort growing or multiplying infinitely until it becomes overwhelmingly terrifying, sometimes shrinking down to an uncomfortable size. I had this dream a few days before I started to write the chapter and got inspired.
The new format introduces underlined words, which represents ASL.
Some words are misspelled or used out of context because the wrong sign is used (i.e. "Having/have" is signed as if pointing to your chest using all four fingers on both hands v.s. "Tired" which is signed by dragging your hands down on your chest while relaxing your shoulders).
What is italicized by Peggy but not underlined is a spoken word that she is lip-reading. Keep it mind that she was previously sleeping and isn't wearing hearing aids. Unlike someone putting on glasses at night, hearing isn't a necessity.
The French translated is:
"Who is it?"
"Laf! It's been so long? How are you?"
"Yes!"
"Are you serious, Adri? Now? It's... two in the morning. Exactly."
"Listen... can you call me back? Please?"
"Okay. At two in the afternoon."
"No... Four hours/4:00 p.m." (France time)
"Three hours/3:00 p.m." (France time)
"I am all yours."*
"I am all yours."*
*Those were her last words to Laf in real life. I made it a cute saying between close friends since being betrothed would mess up the plot.
For anyone curious about the time difference from France: New York is around six to eight hours ahead, depending on location.
