Just A Dream

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Treppe zum Bergfried von Altweilnau

Treppe zum Bergfried von Altweilnau

Another Picture It & Write Inspiration

There’s a sense of urgency as the thunder rumbles and the clouds roll over one another. I can’t help but to think of that scene in James and the Giant Peach when they’re running away from the Rhino. The wind, as it scratches against my cheek, seems to echo my thoughts. Here comes my nightmare.

So I run. Higher. Higher. My breath is carried away with each step I take. As my foot meets with the metal of the stairway it clanks and I can feel the vibrations through my bones. Higher. Higher.

I swear I felt its frigid fingers on my ankle. Which only pushes me faster.

Higher. Higher.

But it seems no matter how fast I run, how high I climb, I am neither closer or further away from my goal.

Why am I running again?

The sky turns eggplant as it is lit up with lightning that branches out like tree branches. It reaches for me before fading into the wine colored clouds. There is a second, just one second, when the sky fades back to gray and the wind ceases to cry, and the night is calm and I can catch my breath.

Why was I running again?

Then thunder bellows around me and shakes the staircase. I grip the ice-cold railing as the steps beneath me sway. A mist falls over me and it feels like there are millions of hands lightly running over my skin. And then I run again.

Higher. Higher.

And this time I am actually getting somewhere.

The wind presses against me as the stairs continue to swing like a pendulum. Thunder howls in my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe that’s a dumb thing to do, but I know I’ll never make it if I look down. I use my hands as eyes and follow the railing.

Higher. Higher.

Until, suddenly, I can go no higher. I open my eyes. There is a door in front of me. I go to touch the doorknob when it swings open and a set of hands pushes me through to the other side where I fall alongside the spiral staircase, watching the platform disappear.

I gasp, sitting up in a bed of sweat. The Oak outside my window rasps against the glass. It was just a dream.

Wildest Dreams- Drive

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When I asked where we were going, Mr. Prent replied, “Let’s get out of this town; drive out of the city, just… get away from these crowds of students and teachers…” And witnesses.

“I like the sound of that.”

So we went on a long drive. No destination in sight. Maybe Mr. Prent got the feeling too. He has somewhere- he didn’t know where yet, that he had to go.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I woke in the passenger seat, but Mr. Prent was laying in the bed of his truck, staring into the stars. I climbed out, realizing we were in a cemetery. Of all places to go, I wondered, why there?

Not that I cared. I am the picnic in the cemetery kind of gal. But she strongly advised against it- like everything else- and suggested I find more “appropriate” interests.

I wonder if she would have found this appropriate.

I didn’t say anything. Mr. Prent just looked so far away; deep in some other world. Instead, I laid there next to him. The cool metal sent chills up my spine and I shivered in the warm autumn night. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I layed my head on his chest. His cologne reminded me of a cool ocean breeze that swallows you whole… his scent is still in my hair.

I’m not sure how long we laid like that for. I started off counting seconds in his heartbeats. One, two, three, fo-ur, fivesix, seven, eight, nine, tah-en. But doing that only made me sleepy. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to hold this moment in the now and have it last forever.

I should know better than anyone, nothing lasts forever. Especially not happiness. I was happy once-upon-a-time. When I had parents- real ones- but it was so long ago it feels like a dream. Or a nightmare.

I guess he knows about this too. It was the cemetery where both his father and brother were buried. A robbery gone wrong. Mr. Prent was in college. His mother was grocery shopping. To come home and see her son and husband askew on the kitchen floor. I could just imagine her walking into the house, wondering why the door was already open. She’s talking to them- not knowing they can’t hear- going on about a great special she got at the market. Then she sees them. The blood. And bags fall out of her hands in slow-motion… It’s all a little too familiar.


A passage of Wildest Dreams & a picture It & Write inspiration!

Wildest Dreams- Hunted: A Poem

haunted
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Dark clouds in my head

Rain cascades over my ribs

Salty and acidic

Eroding my bones

I am broken

Haunted

And so far gone lost.


I thought this would be a good poem for Wildest Dreams. A little side project I am working on. Read part of it here, a picture-it & write inspiration!