"JUST ANOTHER NIGHTMARE" in "WRITER@WORK: Stories From A Lone, Urban Girl"

To some people, dreams are just dreams. They don’t (have to) mean a damn thing. No need to think about them too much, even when they’re bad.

To others, especially if the dreams are repetitive, they are to be taken seriously. Do they contain symbols to be interpreted, no matter how strange? Are they some sort of a premonition, something bound to happen in the future?

They’ll probably say I should go easy on anything dark. You know, thriller stories and all that jazz.

Unfortunately, I’m not in the mood for cheesy stuff. No, thank you. I’d rather watch something that helps me to think better. That’s always been my number one choice. I don’t want to feel too much about anything and anyone anymore. You know what that does me.

That dream has come quite more often lately. I let you use this super outdated idea for another blockbuster movie. I’m too scared to do that myself. I don’t know why.

So, this is how the nightmare always goes:

I open my eyes to find myself tied in bed. A dark-masked face hovers before me, muffling:
“Ssssh, it’s okay. Don’t fight it. It’ll be over soon. Try to enjoy this.”

I panic. I struggle to break free, which hurts my wrists even worse. I try to scream, but my mouth is tightly gagged and I choke. I can taste the cloth.

No....

I start hyperventilating. Then I hear another woman’s scream from outside that room:
“Leave her alone! You’ve already got me. Leave her alone!”

Who’s that? I freeze with terror. Why is she crying? What’s happening?

The dark-masked figure groans. Getting up, he walks to the door and unlocks it. Before exiting, he turns to me and warns:

“Don’t go anywhere.” Then he chuckles, mostly to himself. “As if you could.”

BAM! The door closes. I hear a lock being turned. Seconds follow with eerie silence.

When that woman starts screaming again, my blood gets cold. My heart beats faster. My God, what is he doing with her?

I twist my arms and pull my wrists apart. It hurts, but I ignore the biting pain into my skin again. I twist both my arms and pull my wrists apart again, until…

…miraculously, I manage to break free. The piece of rope is now cut in two. My wrists are bleeding, although not so profusely.

The screaming goes on. I remove the gag and hesitate.

Should I try to rescue her too? I circle around that room to find anything that can be used as a weapon. Nothing. I see a large window with no latches to open it. I’m still trapped!

As if reading my mind, the woman from the other room suddenly screams again:

“RUUUNNN!!!”

What about her? I have no time to think. It’s also pure reflex.

I throw my entire weight right into the window. I close my eyes and hold my head with both hands as I fall…

…until I wake up. Then again, I haven’t woken up completely, so I drift off back to sleep…

…back into that dreadful dream. Somehow, I’ve been rolling and rolling down until I land hard on the ground. Surprisingly, no broken bones. Just cuts and bruises, because I can still get back on my feet quickly.

Perhaps it’s the adrenaline.

Ignoring the stinging pain (especially in my elbows, arms, cheeks, and temples), I start to run. It’s dark around me, but I can feel that the path is wide and winding down. My bare feet can feel the hard, cold concrete ground below.

I hear a roaring machine behind me and catch a quick look at my moving shadow on the sudden light through me. I turn my head to a pair of headlights…and quicken my pace.

The dark-masked figure is on a speeding motorbike, trying to get me!

Knowing how out of shape and breathless I already am, I change my strategy. I stop as he speeds closer, dodge sideways, and kick his motorbike as hard as possible.

It works. He falls off the bike sideways. The bike swings and swirls on the ground before it finally crashes into the wall. He hits his head against the wall and faints, his body rolling on the ground before lying still.

I could run far away and get help or return to rescue that other woman. Instead, my curiousity gets the better of me. I slowly approach him and remove his mask. He’s unconscious but still breathing.

“No.” The next thing I feel is a stinging pain in the heart. It hurts a lot more than the cuts and bruises. The pain forms that familiar lump in my throat. It sends hot tears to my eyes, which blur my vision…

“You…”

Then at last, I wake up completely.

R.