Why I Hate Dreaming.

My room was dark and the paint on the walls was fading so that the light from the closed glass pane window made it look dingy and dark, it reminded me of someones soul actually. It reminded me of death, like fading hope or something. Ugh, I hated this room, but it was the only room I had.1

I had a small house, one bedroom, a kitchen and a small den, but I guess I couldn’t complain. I didn’t have to pay the rent, the stupid UKSS (United Kingdom Social Service) had to pay it, so I guess it was better then nothing.2

I sat on my bed, strait backed and not leaning against anything because I knew if I got comfortable that it meant I would fall asleep… and I didn’t want to do that. I hated sleeping, though I loved it at the same time. The thing is... I love sleeping, but I knew I would dream… and that’s what I hated more.3

I hated dreaming because I knew all my dreams were the same. Every night I would pray that I would not dream, but I dreamt anyway, I dreamt of horrible things, things that happened to me and things that I feared, things that I knew could happen, over all I just hated dreaming… so I reframed from sleeping most of the time.4

My head ached as I sat there, my neck bobbing the weight of my skull back and forth, not strong enough anymore to hold it strait. My eyes fluttered and my mouth was dry, I was to tired to get up and get some water so I just sat there, thinking about how much I wanted water. Ugh this was so mental. 5

My head swayed once more as I looked over at the door in the front of the room, watching it slowly be opened and closed by the wind… wait, the wind? The only way it could have gotten wind was from the window… and the window was closed. I cursed and ranted off a random hopeless prayer in my head, but the door still opened and closed. My eyes closed for merely a second and when I opened them the door had stopped, I sighed with relief when something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I turned slightly and sitting in the chair in front of me was my Father, I shook my head. Why was he here, he wasn’t suppose to be here, this wasn’t suppose to happen!6

I couldn’t help but let a small whimper escape me; I hated the sound of it, made me feel weak, though it was hard not to feel weak around my father… very hard.7

I sat there as he stared at me, I tried to say something, ask him a question, anything to keep his mind off what I know he wanted to do, but I couldn’t speak, nothing was coming out… not even my breath.8

A shiver was sent hurling down my spine as I sat there, frozen, my arms trembling. Why couldn’t I move? I begged my body to move, but it didn’t, it just sat there, staring back at my Father.9

Since I couldn’t move I began to ramble off a prayer in my mind, praying that my Father would not move, because I knew if he did that it would not be good news for me.10

My prayers stopped abruptly as I watched my Father stand, walk over to my bedside and stand there. The first thing that I noticed was that he was not blinking.11

Errr, what was this? I asked myself and knew there would be no answer. My eyes shut as his hand touched my arm. 12

WHY WASN’T I MOVING! The question screamed in my head.13

This would not have been half as frightening if it were my brother sitting there, because I knew he was dead, he was shot, buried and six feet under, but this was my father and, sadly, I knew he was alive, I knew that he was getting out of prison and I knew that this was very possible.14

His hand was cold as it’s ran down my arm and rested on my hip, my chest heaved at the touch and a painful rush of breath flew through my throat, his hand moved down to my leg and I keeled over. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for moving, but any sort of movement was fine with me.15

He reached down at my now crooked body and ran his hand across my chest. I could feel hot tears running down my cheeks and onto the sheet beneath me. He began to press his body against mine, holding me down, I couldn’t move.16

Incoherent thoughts ran through my head, though I could tell one apart from the others. Why wasn’t he talking, he always talked during this sort of thing when I was younger, I remember vividly because it was something I hated more then the actually felony, I hated when he’d talk about how what he was doing was okay, that I should keep my mouth shut and not tell anyone about what he was doing. I never told anybody, but I knew it was wrong, there was no way he would ever be able to convince me this was just what people did to other people… aye, it was the usual routine, ‘the rape and go…’ his source of pleasure… and my source of fuel to hate everybody who ever crossed my path.17

As I though I felt his hand grab my shoot and his other hand cover my mouth and press against my nose, for a moment I was just stunned, but then I was shaking uncontrollably, I couldn’t breath, tears still running down my face as I saw him smiling down at me, I looked in his eyes and saw nothing, not even any sort of emotional acknowledgement of what he was doing to me. 18

My body jerked and shook violently and finally I blacked out, but just for a second, when my eyes opened again I was still in my room, but it was daylight and someone else was there, I couldn’t see them clearly through clouded eyes, the figure came closer and sat on the bed and reached over, putting the back of his hand on my forehead. 19

“Well you seem to be fine, no fever.” He said, I now knew it was a he because of the voice.20

I coughed and leaned over the bed and puked uncontrollably, I could feel his hand on my back, I winced at the touch. When I stopped puking I shrugged off his touch and stood, almost falling and when he went to catch me I glared at him and walked off into the living area. My chest still heaved and I still struggled to breathe, though I tried to calm that with a glass of water, which didn’t calm it at all, but made it worse, I gagged on the cold rush of the water and threw it back up into the sink.21

“You sure your okay?” he asked and I turned fast to look at him. I was surprised to see concern on his face.22

“I’m fine, leave.” I said and he frowned.23

“You weren’t breathing, you should be glad I came when I did or you’d be dead.” He scowled at me and grabbed his bag and headed for the door.24

There was no way I was going to say…25

“Thank you, Doctor.” Damn it, I said it, ah well, he did save me… from myself… whatever, I don’t want to think about it.26

Thank God I was only Dreaming.27