Thursday, December 13, 2012 at Rustic Owl
Starting talking in her sleep. Started racing through her dreams as if she were going to win a medal. This one, not this one, this one, not this one. She was trying to reward herself for the good ones. She was firing on all cylinders to remember every part.
She thinks back 20 years to the one where a witch tried to steal her nightgown with a bow right off of her back, then the one where she dreamed her mother had turned into her father and they were both shaving their same face side by side at the bathroom sink. ‘A nightmare’ she mumbles out loud–only it comes out as “Monster mayhem” or something like “Mrs. Gangl’s teeth” because she’s entranced. She screams at one point-at the dream where she locked the neighbour’s 1 year old in her playroom and waited on the outside till she heard him cry. Then when she opened the door, he would hug her because he was scared and didn’t want to be alone. She screams because that was not a dream. It was a reality. “What is it doing here?” She mumbles again—manifesting itself out loud as “No, Anthony.” She kicks her legs, her body convulsing. She’s almost at the end now. Almost at the morning. Almost at the sun rise.