[8:40pm | wednesday, 2/15/12 | entry eight (8), a direct account of three mighty mistakes of mine; another dream; a deadly dream.]
take a breath. the must and tangible memories funnel into your mouth, coasting across the soft tissue of your throat and the ever-more delicate membrane of your trachea, the diligent infantry inflating your lungs with a kind of restricting fullness that does more to make breathing difficult than make it any easier. exhale sharply, as a consequence, but gasp again, swallow another breath, suck in the oxygen around you, display such profound gluttony. your heart thundered.
alive, then, you discern. you were alive. i was alive. yet dragging my fingertips through the cotton folds of where i lay, i knew i was not in my bed. there was too much comfort here, and not enough color; muted, neutral tones screamed at you from every shadowy corner, even the floors heaved up at you in their sickly brown stained-wood fashion. it made your mind reel, and spin, and this made the shadows more keen to swallow up every detail of what was around you.
the bed did not partake in the ill-inducing carousel. the bed was a consistency, though unfamiliar. why was the bed unfamiliar ? but it wasn’t. but it was, something told you. you didn’t know who, or what, it was. it seemed accurate.
your head stops spinning, or the act of it became too mundane and boring to keep up, because it stopped abruptly. the shadows spoke to you, slithering around, desiring to wrap around your ankles, but you began to notice there was a thin, watery light around where you sat in the folds of the unfamiliar-familiar comforter, but no apparent light source. that was wrong. i would have guessed moonlight, but the shadows swathed around the dull, very distant window in a screen so impenetrable-seeming the idea seemed more ludicrous than light-from-nowhere. so the light was from nowhere, you decided.
my hands had kept wandering in the shallow crevices of the blanket, creeping along the funnels the folds made as if an expedition. and not one of anti-abstraction, you remark to yourself with grim humor. but it wasn’t very funny. startled, though, they found something cool to the touch, freezing actually, and despite the coursing amount of terror inside your veins you seized the thing and flung it outwards from the blanket, throwing it unmercifully into the light-from-nowhere that glazed your skin with an eerie translucency. i wanted to yell at the sight. the object was attached to a human, a human body beside me - the object was a hand. i wanted to yell. what thing of a human was so cold-blooded i could not have felt it’s proximity brushing me through the blankets ?
“sshh, baby.” the thing murmured. the shadows threatened to continue their wheeling spins of dance once more, but i refused to look past the boundaries of the bed to acknowledged the disorientation. “go back to sleep.”
i will not, i thought derisively in response, feeling that musty air constrict my lungs uncomfortably once more, feeling sick once again, the peripherals of my vision noticing how the shadows and muted tones of the room swung in crazy somersaults and abstract dances. i realized my hand was still touching the thing that also seemed familiar, but had to be unfamiliar, and i attempted to sharply release it, my arm still poised outstretched in midair with the conviction of the find, but i realized it in turn held on to me. “stop.” i said. “stop.” it was a trapped voice, mine was.
“go back to sleep.” murmured that sleepy, sleepy voice, the head it came from still rolled in the folds of the blankets, unseen. i remember what i used to call it, how i’d coo at it with a lovingness in my tempo. i started to violently shake my hand, passionately, rigorously, attempting to free myself, but it refused to let go, and the cold hand dropped back to the surface of the bed, not releasing it’s thrashing captor.
i did know this room. i did know it’s neutral tones. i did know that voice, but not from that cold mass it came out of. i stared around sharply, fearfully, and it was as if the shadows balked at me. the shadow-screened window paled to let in more light, as if jeering at me, revealing a thin, chalked-up doodle on the glass pane. the musty air was hard to come by, now, in my lungs. i gasped and shuddered for it to fill my lungs, even painfully, i gasped for any bit of air, but my throat seemed to crack and swell at the complete absence of oxygen. no human could live in these sudden conditions. the shadows themselves emitted a temperature chillier than the bite of space, i was sure, and the feeling in my hand was quickly fading from the boy who still seized it tightly, inviting his chill to bite into my fingers. they would be purple, i thought if i could see them, they would be blue and purple, and not in the alluring way.
“baby, go back to sleep.” that lazy-sleep voice murmured again, shuffling slightly in his bed as if the chill were only a passing discomfort. i could not breathe to answer; i could not say stop, get away, what are you, or scream how much it felt like his stone-like hand was sucking all the life-force from my violently dry-heaving body. he wasn’t going to let go, i realized. my mistake was that i fell into the trap in the first place. i knew what this place was, the hollowed-out corner on the far right of the room and how it was the breeding-place for all these shadows that writhed around me. my heart ached and grieved and my body shook from oxygen deprivation, and my eyes stung sharply and shined in the semi-light with misery. i tried to swallow by the throat and tongue was a swelled-up mass, my lungs felt flat and flaccid with the lack of air in them, my heart beat so slow and weak yet it’s drums were deafening in my ears.
i could not talk, but i tried. “stop, stop, stop, stop!” shadows unrelated to that of the rooms’ crept up in my glassy, reeling vision. i was to die here, i thought. i flailed my hand with all the strength left in my body, shaking and vibrating violently all at once i wasn’t sure what were the difference between my shivers and my struggles, and by all account my struggles were meek at best. i didn’t care. all i could think was how i did not want to die holding his hand in this awful vacuum.
“babe. go to sleep.”