Some times I can remember my dreams so fluidly, and other times I don’t remember anything at all. This is a dream that I had one night, and I turned it into a story.
Let me know what you think!
Hope you enjoy!
Dark Nights, Early Mornings
It was dark, and I was in the middle of a good dream, that’s all I remember before I woke up to my mom crawling in my bed. That happened often, so it didn’t surprise me. I scrunched over as far as I could to make sure she had enough room. I curled my legs around the dog at the foot of the bed that slept like the dead. The dog wouldn’t move until I got ready for work in the morning, so I have to sleep around her. She curled like a ball in between my legs and doesn’t even bat an eye as I roll onto my left side. My left arm is curled under my pillow, and my right arm is under my chin.
I feel my mom as she reaches out to touch my chin, and I hear her whisper something.
I don’t open my eyes.
“What?” I mumble, trying to make my mouth and brain work the best that I can.
“Something weird was happening outside,” she says quietly like she is afraid someone is going to hear her.
“What do you mean?” I ask, waking up a little bit more.
“I don’t know. There was just something weird going on.”
Through the haze of sleep clouding my brain, I think back to what happened just as I was falling asleep. My window was open, because the weather was finally nice, and I could finally sleep easily with a cool breeze drifting over me. But, I could also hear the people outside. I could hear two guys arguing and it sounded like they were right outside my bedroom window. I had the urge to go to the window and tell them to shut up, but my body was so laden with sleep that I couldn’t bring myself to move.
A part of me wanted to be scared at my mother’s words because after all it was three o’clock in the morning, and it’s strange. But I felt like I hadn’t been to sleep in years, and I couldn’t control it as my brain snoozed out, and sleep took me away.
When I woke up, it was hard to roll out of bed but somehow, I managed to do it. I couldn’t believe that it was already time for work. I ignored the warmth of my bed that seemed to be calling to me, and forced myself into clothes, and ran a brush through my hair. It’s funny how things change. At the beginning, when I first took the job, my appearance was stellar. Makeup and hair done, clothes picked out to perfection. And now… now, I looked like I just rolled out of bed because now that is the most important thing. Sleep. Not looking perfect.
I chugged a cup of coffee, and quickly brushed my teeth. Then, I grabbed my stuff and headed for the door. I don’t look through the peephole because who would be on the porch at five o’clock in the morning. I turn as I close the front door, making sure that I don’t let the cat out as I do. Then I turn around.
Instinctively, I take a step back at the sight of a figure standing on the corner of the porch. The figure turns, barely even glancing at me.
Before I can think about what is happening, the figure steps forward, revealing himself in the moonlight. A tall man, I don’t recognize, with wavy brown hair and a scar on the side of his face. He steps again, reaching a hand out and before I can process what is happening, he grasps my arm, and pulls me forward, throwing me down the front steps. I roll down the steps, hitting various body parts on the way down. My head hits the stone step at the bottom, and for a moment all I can do is lay there and watch him. I watch as he uses my keys to open the front door and then he steps inside the house.
I hear the dog start to growl, but I know that my mother will think it’s me coming back into the house because I forgot something. Fear courses through my body as I try to muster up something, anything. I want to scream, to yell for help, to shout for my parents to wake up and realize that there is someone in the house. I try to move my arms, to reach into my pocket for my phone to call 911.
The dog lets out a pinched whine, and my stomach falls, tears forming into my eyes. I open my mouth, a scream ripping through my throat.
I open my eyes, no longer staring up at the trees, instead I’m back in my room, my mother lying next to me, the dog resting at the foot of the bed. I check the time on the nightstand. Three-thirty. My heart is racing and sweat drips down my forehead.
Reaching over, I punch my mom in the arm.
“Ow,” she says, rolling over to face me.
A chuckle escapes me, and I try to calm my breathing.
It was only a dream.
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