A Child's Dream

She dreamed. She dreamed of the life she longed for. The images and sounds swirled around her like vapour...a maddening tableau. She wanted to touch those images, feel those sounds, wanted to relive the wonderful events they spoke of.. But she could not. They were out of her reach, So close and yet forever separated from her by that unyielding vale of reality. Oh, the cruelty of her dreams. They brought her here every night, tantalising her with their false promises, driving her mad with longing for what she could not and would never again possess. How she longed to wake, to be free from the torture. Yet she longed to sleep, to be taken to that place where her life still made sense, where the things she valued most of all still existed. She slept now, trapped in that nightmarish dream, desperately reaching out for the hands that seemed so real, so solid, but left only vapour trails in her head, trails that were slowly but surely clouding her mind and obscuring everything within it. A small part of her was aware that something was terribly wrong, something that would destroy her if she permitted it to, but even that vague suspicion was almost gone, smothered by the all-consuming lust for what had been before, and what would never be again. She reached out with her mind, extending every tendril of her consciousness, exerting every particle of her will to touch what was beyond that impenetrable screen that separates reality from dreams, that screen that must never be breached, for one who passes that barrier is lost forever. Her waking mind knew this well, but that part of her was gradually being beaten down, giving way to her terrible grief and longing. She could not reveal her secret, For if she did she would be humiliated, met with nothing but scorn and ridicule. If they knew what she longed for, why she grieved...the pain of her dreams was easier to face than the shame it would bring if they knew. Those who saw her as an angel who could do know wrong, who had no capacity for sadness or insecurity, who had no cause to be unsatisfied. Those who needed her to be strong, who lived off her successes and triumphs which were meaningless to her. Their sneering would kill her as surely as the blade under her pillow would kill her if she used it, the blade she thought about almost every night, the blade she had held in trembling hands when the pain of reality had almost become too much, when she could not escape in to the comparative relief of her dreams. How she longed to be in that place forever...to be close to what she desired most on earth. Even if she could not be there in the flesh, the agony of her dreams was far more barable than the agony of reality...the pain of waring a mask. How she longed to be in a place where she did not have to hide, where she could cry and scream with fury and grief without having to fake a smile. Maybe if she tried hard enough she would escape from reality forever... she could exist in her dreams, finally pass through that barrier that kept her from what she wanted so much, and never have to worry about anything again. No! The cry reverberated around the empty room as she jerked awake, her dreams ripped from her as they had been so many times. In the haze of fear and confusion, a part of her realised the cry had been her own. She cursed herself then, clawing at her face and arms in a sudden rage, the torrent of her conflicting emotions becoming all at once too much for her to bare. Oh god, why won’t you stop? Why can’t you leave me alone! Her terror and anger spiralling out of control, she lashed out at invisible enimies, flailing wildly at nothing, gripped in a terrible pannock. She caught herself across the face with the back of her hand as she thrashed, and the sudden sharp sting of her teeth digging into her bottom lip brought her bac, the physical pain and the taste of blood acting as a sedative. She lay on her back, gasping with fear and exhaustion, sweat glistening on her cheeks and trickling between her breasts. She found the place where her lip had been cut and bit down hard, harder, basking in the exquisite pain and the salty taste of her own blood. It was the only way she could regain control, the only way she could have any hold over the emotional torment she had to bare. She bit down until she felt her head pounding and buzzing, until she moaned involuntarily with the agony of it. She ground her lip between her teeth for nearly 30 seconds, unaware that the combined stress of the physical damage and emotional trauma was causing her heart-rate to increase dramatically, and that her respiration was alternating between abnormally high and dangerously low. After what seemed to her an eternity, she felt her mind settling into what passed for normality...the pannock and grief temporarily dulled by the physical abuse she had inflicted upon herself. She held onto the stinging sensation in her lip, the taste of her blood, the lines of pain across her face and arms. Anything was better than what was in her head. Anything at all. All at once she was exhausted, her adrenaline abating as suddenly as it had come. She felt her heart jump, settle, jump again, as her body attempted to stabilise. Her breathing was shallow and laboured. She lay still, thinking not for the first time that she had been in considerable danger of shutting down then, that if this went on for much longer her body would simply collapse under the strain. She ran over this possibility in her head, felt nothing. God, what’s the time? What if someone sees me like this? She suddenly felt scared. She turned her head slowly, the movement taking most of her strength, to look at the alarm clock on her bedside table. The blade stared back at her, it’s shiny, razor like edge gleaming in the semi-darkness an inch from her eyes. When had she pulled that from under her pillow. Had it slipped out while she was sleeping? Perhaps her pannocked thrashing had done it. A part of her knew this was not the case. She searched through her memories with increasing desperation, trying to find the answer, feeling herself losing control again. She reached out for the handle, closing her left hand around it and squeezing until her knuckles were white, the control returning once more. She drew the blade towards her slowly, the gleaming metal oddly comforting, the power it gave her attractive. The things she could do with this...she could cause people and objects to change. She could use it to take her back to her dreams forever. She cast her eyes along the edge of the blade, transfixed by the possibilities it presented...a sound like thunder, like an earthquake. A knock! No, they must not know! She threw the blade down, drawing her sheet up to cover it, in the same motion drawing the bedclothes back over herself as far as her nose, tucking her face and arms under the protective shrowd. This would not be suspicious...they believed she preferred sleeping that way these days. Neither would the twisted sheets raise an eyebrow...they thought she tossed and turned a little more than was strictly normal, but that was all. The click of the latch disengaging from the doorframe sounded like a gunshot, weirdly distorted by the covers around her head. A silence that seemed to last forever. She was hot. She wished they would hurry up and perform their mundaine, pointless ritual of telling her it was time to get up so she could take a shower. “Time to get up, honey. You awake?” “Yeah, Mum.” What she wouldn’t give to be dreaming, away from this insufferable casualness, these shallow, ignorant people who couldn’t see that she was dying. “I’ll just be a minute.” “Ok. Sleep well?” Yeah, really well thanks.” “That’s good.” Silence. Click. An inward sigh of relief at not being discovered. The crushing disappointment and despair at once again being left alone to her suffering, of having no one to talk to or confide in without fear of ridicule. Yet another emotional conflict, one of the many she battled unsuccessfully to comprehend, and had done every day for as long as she could remember. Slowly, laboriously, she struggled to free herself from the sheets she’d somehow managed to become intangled in, pushing the covers back from her face and raising herself into a sitting position. She felt the blade lightly brush her right side as she bent to turn her bedside light on. The sudden glare was painful. She blinked several times, waiting for her eyes to adjust, dreading the moment when she would have to see herself in the mirror. She hated the way she looked., Even the cuts and scratches could not hide the false, superficial beauty of her features that everyone else loved so much. If only her face reflected her true nature, then maybe they wouldn’t be so generous with their unwanted attentions. If only she could let them see the marks she inflicted almost every night. But she could not afford to let this happen. She would need to apply liberal amounts of makeup, or they might suspect something. She could not allow even the merist suspicion to enter their minds. How they would sneer if they knew...how they would laugh. And that would kill her. If her logic had been sound, it may have told her that she was close to dying without their help, and that even now her basic survival instincts were screaming for her attention. But her logic played no part in the world she existed in. It had been shattered by the uninterrupted current of her grief and rage. Her eyes finally accustomed to the light, she rose slowly from the bed, the world tilting alarmingly as she attempted to stand. She needed two attempts before she was able to steady herself, her rubbery legs barely able to hold her weight, her head pounding and aching. The psychological and physical abuse had taken its toll. She stood still for a time, eyes tight shut, while her body adjusted to the new position. Then she cast her eyes about the room for her uniform pants which she vaguely remembered tossing onto the floor the previous night. A figure stood facing her, with it’s back pressed against the door. A wierd apparition with chalk wight features and bared teeth. It was staring straight at her, wide-eyed and ghastly-looking in the dim light. All the breath was violently expelled from her body in a terrified shreek she barely heard. Her mind seemed to implode in on itself, her heart leaping and thundering in her ears and in her head. She was vaguely aware of hands on her, it’s hands, grabbing at her, taring at her body and face. She tried desperately to fight, but all the strength seemed to have been drained by whatever was happening to her. She cried then, cried with a terrible sadness and pain, disconnected words seeming to come against her will, “please stop please don’t hurt me I’ll do anything I promise it’s not me going home I want my Mum...
She was on a boat in the harbour, rocking gently back and forth on the waves as they sat at ancore. She was pointing ergently and tugging at a woman’s sleeve...Mummy, Mummy! Look at the people up there, they’re waring big strings all over them! What are they doing Mummy? They look scared, are they tied up? Do the baddies have them? Mummy I’m scared! The people stood on a bridge overlooking the waters of the harbour, their faces tight with fear, what looked like thick rope crisscrossing their bodies. One of them, a medium-sized man younger than her daddy but older than her cousin who was 14, appeared to be tied to some sort of cable that was stretched taught. Behind them, a man with a wicked smile and sharp features was speaking animatedly. It looked for all the world to her like a great plank that the pirates on TV made their unfortunate victims jump off. Except the bad man wasn’t waring a patch over his eye, and from what she’d seen on TV they usually only had one rope. Then the young man who was tied to the thick cable shuffled to the edge of the bridge, slowly, the bad man shouting and waving his arms menacingly to drive him onwards. He shuffled until his toes were dangling over the edge. She watched in fascinated horror, her wide, inosent eyes following every move, her pure young mind filled with compassion for the poor soul on the edge of the bridge, about to be cast to the crocodiles and sharks by the evil pirate. Her eyes filled with tears as she watched the dread on the young man’s face, the pirate sneering and shouting behind him, obviously having a final gloat before carrying out his grousome plans. Mummy, when will the goody come and save him? Mum I want to help him! Her mother continued the bright conversation with the woman she’d met on the ferry only 10 minutes ago, oblivious to her daughter’s pleas. She was suddenly filled with an intense irritation. It wasn’t fair! Here this poor young man was about to be cast to a certain doom, and all her mum could do was smile and talk about nothing to a woman she didn’t even know! She reached out to tug angrily at her mother’s sleeve, but before her hand was half way extended the young man suddenly seemed to lose his grip. She gazed in mute terror as his body seemed to hang gracefully in mid air for a moment before plummeting earthward. She let out a long, piercing scream, finally commanding her mother’s attention. Hey, hey. What’s wrong, baby. What happened. She felt arms around her, the arms she loved to hold her so much, heard the soft voice she trusted infinitely. Shhh, why are you crying? Tell Mum what happened. She struggled to form words through the storm of emotion, but her mummy was holding her, so she could do anything. She knew this as surely as she knew the sky was blue, and that Bradman was the greatest sportsman who ever lived. Because her daddy had told her that, and he meant as much if not more to her than her Mummy. The man...the pirate pushed him! He fell in the water!” There are sharks and crocodiles and...and,” She felt soft hands in her hair, felt herself being gently rocked back and forward. Slowly she was calmed by the motion and the closeness to the woman she loved so much. “There was a man on a bridge, really high, and a pirate was behind him. He pushed him off the plank. Mummy where’s the good guy, he never came!? “Where’s the bridge, sweety? Show me where. She pointed with a shaking finger upwards, burying her face in the comfort of her mother’s bosom. She didn’t want to have to look at that terrible place, to be reminded of what she had seen. Her mother looked up, stared for a time at the place where the bridge was, then, “Honey, look up with me. Noone fell into the water. Come on now, you’re a big girl. Hold my hand and look up. That’s it.” With her mother’s hand in her’s, she managed to raise her head until her eyes focused on the bridge. She let out a squeal of surprise and delight. For there dangling on the same rope she’d seen in the pirate’s hands and being slowly pulled up towards the bridge, was the young man whom she’d watched fall into the water just a moment ago. And even more shocking, the pirate was standing on the bridge waving cheerily and smiling with genuine friendliness. “but...but...he was pushing him before! He looks nice now. And the man who fell off, he was looking scared, now he’s smiling too!” Her mother told her gently and patiently what had happened and why, as the other people on the bridge gathered animatedly around the first-time jumper, smiling warmly and patting him on the back. From that point on she had begun to realise that reality was very different from how it was depicted on TV, and her mother had only grown in stature in her young mind. These events and so many more like it flashed through her mind as she lay on her bed, shattered by the poor hand that had been dealt to her family over the last 12 years, the divorce, the lack of money, her mother working increasing hours to feed 3 children when she could barely afford to keep one, the fighting, the slaps, her older sister and only confidant being taken from her by an abusive alcoholic, the car accident that killed her grandparents, the increasing separation from her beloved mother, her intelligence and beauty becoming like a prize to be jealously garded by both parents, the unyielding pressure to work, the scholarships, the endless tutoring and dancing, being shown off like a pretty toy, her needs and desires cast by the wayside, the desperate struggle to keep up appearances while she slowly came apart at the seems, the all-consuming terror of disappointing anyone, of letting her mother down after she had struggled so long and hard, the surety that her problems were insignificant in the face of what her family had been forced to bare and that everyone else would see it that way too. She lay in her mother’s arms, her grief pouring out of her in racking sobs, and wondered how she could once have been joined in so many ways to the woman who was now holding her and yet not recognise her when she stood right in front of her. For it was only now she realised who had been staring at her as she looked around for her uniform pants, and that her mother had not gone out of the room after coming to wake her up that morning, but merely opened and closed the door to give the impression of doing so. She lay sobbing, a child once more, as her mother stroked her hair and whispered to her in that voice she had missed so, "Honey, I'm so sorry...I should've known. I love you, I don't want you to be hurting anymore. I never wanted you too. Things got so tough and I ignored you...I pushed you too hard...Oh honey I love you so much. She raised her head to look at her mother's face, saw the tears glistening on her cheaks, and felt for an instant that unbreakable bond between them, the connection they had shared so long ago. It was only there for the merest second before it was swallowed up by the torrent of her shatterd emotions, but the knowledge that it hadn't vanished completely was enough to tell her that she wanted it back, wanted it more than the blade, more than the pain, more than anything. She had no idea how she would get better, but there would be time. For now she wanted her mother. "Mummy, I'm sorry. I couldn't tell you. You kept asking what was wrong...I thought you would hate me. Please don't hate me, I'm so lonely." They held each other, the struggles of the world around them kept at bay for the time-being by their mutual love, as birds began to sing in the distant autumn sky.