The Endless Dream

My teens are taking a 5000 Words writing class.  I’ve not ever done much with fiction, but I’m always up for something new – so I thought I would give their prompt a try. 

I was finally awake. My mom had come in the room and sat on the bed next time me. She began to chat about Easter. We were going over the final details of the meal. Corn or beans – let’s just do both. Confident I was finally awake, my body relaxed as I began to chat with her.  After a lengthy conversation, it dawns on me that my mom doesn’t live in the area and I wouldn’t be seeing her for Easter. I realize I was yet again tricked and worse than that – still trapped in sleep.  Fear grips my heart and I try and move my still frozen arm. I know it’s laying across my stomach. If only I can lift it just a bit – I know that will work. It has to. I have to get out of this dream.  I focus all my effort onto moving my arm. Nothing.  I try to scream  -again.  Already knowing no sound will come out.

I focus all my efforts on waking up. Finally my hand breaks free and I lift the frayed pink towel off my eyes.  Relief and sunlight floods through me. I am free! Free at last!  The sun is still out – it’s not too late – if I hurry I can get supper on the table.

At that same moment, I hear a knock on the door.  “Come in,” I sleepily say, thankful to be awake. In casually walks my son who begins to do a stand-up comedian act. As I listen it dawns on me that he’s really funny. He’s cracking me up. I wonder where he got the material. His dad has to hear this – it’s good stuff!  As I’m reveling in that proud Mama moment – my sister’s dead dog runs into the room, jumps on my bed and starts licking my face.

Dread grips at my throat.  Tricked again.  I’m still asleep.

How many times was this now? I can’t remember. What was the first dream? It’s so fuzzy. Was my mom next or Jon? This nap is lasting far longer than I anticipated or have time for.

Then, the familiar scent waffles in the room.  Is this real or I am still locked in sleep?  Without even turning my heard, I realize James is home and I’ve slept far too long.  Supper isn’t finished, let alone started.  His voice is kind and understanding, reassuring me he understands and is glad I was resting.  I must be awake now.  He reaches down and gently kisses me on the forehead. My savior has come. He has come to retrieve me from this hellish dream.  The conversation turns to the events of my day and after sharing the highs and lows of my day, I tell him about this weird dream I couldn’t wake up from.  If only I could get the towel off my eyes. If only I could move my hand. I knew I could have woken up.  But, I was a prisoner in my own body.  I glance across the room to find the picture on the wall isn’t there.  Seriously?  Now I’m mad.  Fuming mad.  How in the world can I still be stuck in this dream?

Anger turns to fear.  I’m stuck. Truly stuck.  I laid down for what should have been 20 minutes.  I have now woken up at least 3-4 times only to find I never woke at all. I’m angry my day is wasted.  I’m afraid I’ll never wake up.  My arm is moving freely now – the sun is streaming in the windows – yet I know my arm is still frozen to my body and the towel is over my eyes.


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