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Nightmares Plague Me
7 years ago
General
Nightmares. They plague me. This one...this one has me up. I'll be up the rest of the night.
It starts in a field. I'm laying in the grass looking at the clouds. There weren't many but they were painted orange and red by the afternoon sun as it was setting behind the mountains to my left. There were spruce and fir trees all over the place except in this field. I was alone. It was not hot but it was not cold either. The air was just right, the sky was amazing, the setting supreme and the beauty of this place unmatched by anything I have ever seen.
Then, just as the stars started to show past the light of the sun, an explosion. A bomb went off in the distance. The not far enough away distance. Here in my quiet place, a place I would gladly stay forever, a Hydrogen bomb just over the mountains to my left. Then another in the direction of my feet. I was alone. I had to get home. Past the mountains.
I jumped in my truck and tore over the dirt road. I didn't care; I had to get home. I drove faster and made it to the main road to see in front of me the mushroom cloud still hanging in the sky like a deadly beacon showing where the most destruction lay.
Cars of all kinds passed me at speeds I dare not travel to avoid crashing. The closer I got, the harder it was to breathe for the smoke of everything burning hung heavy in the air. The closer I got, the more I realized I was getting as close as I could get. People running; missing limbs and not realizing it. Coming after me because of my car. I couldn't let them catch me. I plowed through the still falling rubble, and sometimes them. I had to get home.
I made it. As far as I could go. To a crater. Home. My street was gone, my house was gone, my animals....my husband. There were no alarms. There were no sirens. All there was were people screaming, and the sound of things that shouldn't burn burning. The smoke burned my skin and my eyes and my lungs.
I pushed forward. Screaming my voice raw for the response that never came. I found my toaster. I don't know why but I grabbed it up and held it close to me as I moved more toward the place I assumed my house should be. I fell over some rubble and landed on my knee on what I am guessing was once a copper pipe to a water heater. The sharp metal pierced my kneecap and lodged in my joint. The pain was unbearable. As I am typing this, my knee is still throbbing as if it actually happened.
I was stuck. I could not bend my knee to move or stand so I was not able to move further. To find him. My skin was on fire. My eyes were swelling from all the chemicals in the air. My lungs....I wretched to purge anything I could from my body but there was nothing. I moved wrong and sent a shot of pain through my leg so severe I saw stars. My body was starting to quit.
"No. I have to get home." I stood. Through screaming pain and loss of use of that joint I stood. There were people, still screaming, but less now. Not as loud. Maybe they got out. My vision was so blurred; my head was starting to pound; there was fire in my lungs. I had to get home. I had to find him.
I used my toaster and it's cord to splint my leg. God that hurt so much more than the initial wound. I made it through the rubble. I found my front door (or what was left of it) and hobbled on. Calling out with what voice I had left. I got low, trying to feel him. Trying to find him safe under a piece of ceiling that was propped up by a piece of furniture waiting to be found.
My hands felt many things, but none of them him. Sharp metal, glass, splinters. It's hard to type with the pain still in my hands. I found him. His arm was sticking out. I knew it was his. Even though I couldn't see as my eyes were swollen shut. I held his hand in mine so many times and rubbed his arm so much that it had to be his. My voice was gone. It was but a whisper but I called out to him. My throat was lava, but I apologized for getting blood all over him. "I will get you out," I said hushed by my torn vocal chords.
I dug and I lifted and pulled and lost a finger nail or two while splitting all my others. This did not stop me. I had to get home...I finally removed the rubble that covered his upper half. I did not hear him. I pulled. Not budging. I cracked my voice at him. Nothing. I sat. My knee was done, my hands were useless, and I was spent. I got close to him and used my mangled fingers to force open my swollen right eye. A silent scream left me. His entire head was crushed with such an unnatural look to it he did not look human any more. I woke up shouting out.
My knee and hands still hurt. I am coughing. I am always told these are just dreams. Dreams hurt me though. They are vivid. They smell. They are brightly colored and correctly lit.
I limped into the bedroom and heard him snore. He is alright. And I am awake.
It starts in a field. I'm laying in the grass looking at the clouds. There weren't many but they were painted orange and red by the afternoon sun as it was setting behind the mountains to my left. There were spruce and fir trees all over the place except in this field. I was alone. It was not hot but it was not cold either. The air was just right, the sky was amazing, the setting supreme and the beauty of this place unmatched by anything I have ever seen.
Then, just as the stars started to show past the light of the sun, an explosion. A bomb went off in the distance. The not far enough away distance. Here in my quiet place, a place I would gladly stay forever, a Hydrogen bomb just over the mountains to my left. Then another in the direction of my feet. I was alone. I had to get home. Past the mountains.
I jumped in my truck and tore over the dirt road. I didn't care; I had to get home. I drove faster and made it to the main road to see in front of me the mushroom cloud still hanging in the sky like a deadly beacon showing where the most destruction lay.
Cars of all kinds passed me at speeds I dare not travel to avoid crashing. The closer I got, the harder it was to breathe for the smoke of everything burning hung heavy in the air. The closer I got, the more I realized I was getting as close as I could get. People running; missing limbs and not realizing it. Coming after me because of my car. I couldn't let them catch me. I plowed through the still falling rubble, and sometimes them. I had to get home.
I made it. As far as I could go. To a crater. Home. My street was gone, my house was gone, my animals....my husband. There were no alarms. There were no sirens. All there was were people screaming, and the sound of things that shouldn't burn burning. The smoke burned my skin and my eyes and my lungs.
I pushed forward. Screaming my voice raw for the response that never came. I found my toaster. I don't know why but I grabbed it up and held it close to me as I moved more toward the place I assumed my house should be. I fell over some rubble and landed on my knee on what I am guessing was once a copper pipe to a water heater. The sharp metal pierced my kneecap and lodged in my joint. The pain was unbearable. As I am typing this, my knee is still throbbing as if it actually happened.
I was stuck. I could not bend my knee to move or stand so I was not able to move further. To find him. My skin was on fire. My eyes were swelling from all the chemicals in the air. My lungs....I wretched to purge anything I could from my body but there was nothing. I moved wrong and sent a shot of pain through my leg so severe I saw stars. My body was starting to quit.
"No. I have to get home." I stood. Through screaming pain and loss of use of that joint I stood. There were people, still screaming, but less now. Not as loud. Maybe they got out. My vision was so blurred; my head was starting to pound; there was fire in my lungs. I had to get home. I had to find him.
I used my toaster and it's cord to splint my leg. God that hurt so much more than the initial wound. I made it through the rubble. I found my front door (or what was left of it) and hobbled on. Calling out with what voice I had left. I got low, trying to feel him. Trying to find him safe under a piece of ceiling that was propped up by a piece of furniture waiting to be found.
My hands felt many things, but none of them him. Sharp metal, glass, splinters. It's hard to type with the pain still in my hands. I found him. His arm was sticking out. I knew it was his. Even though I couldn't see as my eyes were swollen shut. I held his hand in mine so many times and rubbed his arm so much that it had to be his. My voice was gone. It was but a whisper but I called out to him. My throat was lava, but I apologized for getting blood all over him. "I will get you out," I said hushed by my torn vocal chords.
I dug and I lifted and pulled and lost a finger nail or two while splitting all my others. This did not stop me. I had to get home...I finally removed the rubble that covered his upper half. I did not hear him. I pulled. Not budging. I cracked my voice at him. Nothing. I sat. My knee was done, my hands were useless, and I was spent. I got close to him and used my mangled fingers to force open my swollen right eye. A silent scream left me. His entire head was crushed with such an unnatural look to it he did not look human any more. I woke up shouting out.
My knee and hands still hurt. I am coughing. I am always told these are just dreams. Dreams hurt me though. They are vivid. They smell. They are brightly colored and correctly lit.
I limped into the bedroom and heard him snore. He is alright. And I am awake.
With Love Always,
Calliope
Calliope
V.
V.
Your descriptions are detailed and the thoughts and actions are focused enough that it doesn’t sound like a dream
I used to keep a dream journal religiously for 11 years and I don’t know why I stopped. It gives me trends and patterns of thought, illuminating subconscious fears and allowing me to live in other worlds.