Night-dreaming

I’m standing in front of an extravagant building. It is an old warehouse, fashioned it is own singular way. As I walk by, I see a man’s figure. Then, without a doubt, I enter the place. Inside, I retain opera music, infiltrated with high-pitched singing sounds. There is acting, kids playing around and a presence of a fake atmosphere. I see dull white lights which convey stiff cold breezes. At an instant, everything gets obscure and a stroke of suffering penetrates my subconscious. I walk through the place, pass through some stairs, and then realize them. They are always lying paralyzed on the dirt floor of a tedious room full of ghosts and spectres. I can see a woman, with an incredibly beautiful dress, but…the very only action I perceive with incredible accuracy is a beam of moonlight reflecting against the gold bright cufflinks which belong to a man’s formal black suit… and at that exact moment… I always wake up.

I try to remember the entire dream, but I can’t have exact details of this incident, no; I know my mind is not possibly that strong to summon it all. As long as I know, this constant dream is more than a series of images, sounds and emotions which my mind experiences during the infinite nights; it is more of an unforgettable consternation which provokes me the ceasing to be sane.

It would be useful for you to know that my parents abandoned me when I was a baby, and that has strongly influenced the story of my life. Insanity was what made me live at the asylum, and during such stay I was forced to take off my fear for night and darkness. But, I will always have this fear, no matter what. So I decided to escape from the asylum; which has always been one of my biggest desires.

Thereupon, with this awe of darkness growing stronger, the unknotted time passed. I then found myself driving through an imperturbable road; and suddenly I detected it, the inglorious monument. Compared to other nights, this was a special one, really exceptional.

I parked my car quite a few steps away from this musical attraction. It was an obscure night, without stars, just moon-light. One of the two things that hardly created a glow was the dim lights of the lampposts. But, I also paid attention to the other bleary light which stood still in the roof of the theatre. I laid my eyes on this above dull bright seeing that it was just a crumbling marquee stating the name of the establishment lighted up gently. But even though I try I can’t retrospect its name; I try, but I know that my mind is not possibly that strong.

I don’t know how I got to this place, but I can clearly summon my senses, feelings and actions with certain exactitude when I stared at the extenuating projection of her enchantment.

The place was empty, I recall, except from that appalling theatre standing in front of the abandoned road. From the distance it was just a dingy house, but her daunting illumination made her stand out. My attention was then attracted by her astonishing rare beauty. From what I could see Neglect had become her only friend. An exotic legend among the desolated town, she was. It was a house, a ghostly home, long ago deserted. She created frightful murmurs; cold drafts emanated from her making your skin shivered cold. She was mouldy, rotting, sallow brown. The theatre; yes she, was covered by a dress of hideous poison ivy and dead moonflowers damp from the evening fogs. And the door, the door was slightly off colour. It was red, a deep lip-red. A rush of cold, chilling could be sensed. She projected a musty smell, the smell of a building which had long been rejected. No one performed here, I thought, at least not a living person.

Before long, I saw a colourless figure along the distance. I screamed from where I was standing, but the figure appeared deaf. Without an answer I decided to walk towards it despite my fear of darkness. At that instant hostile breezes started to surround the area. Unwittingly, I managed to reach the figure. As I approached I saw a human. It was a mature man conveying an essence as if he was going to a very important occasion; he, leaning motionless on the box office of the forlorn theatre, didn’t really perceive my presence. The man was wearing a formal black suit and tie, dark shoes, and gold cufflinks. He seemed familiar to me, not that I knew why. I can remember him having a smirk and an indifferent attitude which projected an air of despaired invitation. He seemed to be insinuating me to enter the frivolous attraction. He was standing still, hardly talk, didn’t murmur or even show a gesture; the only time he did was to give me his name: Than Jones, “a man of good deeds,” I thought he was, regardless of the fact that he portrayed a feeling of death. All at once he, choked and dazed, walked thoughtfully through the main entrance of the building, opened sharply its remote front doors and beyond doubt, I decided to enter the place. At that exact moment a harsh breeze blew against my back. I then gazed behind; the man was no longer there. I could just witness an enormous entirety of luxurious starts not present before among the foggy sky.

As I approach inside the theatre I retained a useless lobby. As I went deeper into this tunnel of distortion, I distinguished some furniture and aisles covered in debris. Worn branches stocked into the destroyed walls whipped and scraped the once alluring ticketing counters and coat checks. What was known as a precious red carpet was now begrimed, mouldy and disgusting. Injuries, bloody wounds she possessed. It was for sure that I wasn’t standing inside of a safety haven. Indeed, her inner wood-body was collapsed by a disaster’s forceful flow. What happened to this astonishing wonder? No one has ever known. Everything was dark and abysmal, and the bodies…, now dirty blankets surrounded the area.

A strange air directed my presence to the proscenium. A magical stage appeared in front of me. As soon as it did music started to play. Worn red curtains emaciated by the lack of sun were present at the back of such scenery. You could hear high-pitch sounds coming from a dim shadow of a female image standing right in the centre line of the apron. The signing voice delighted the place with opera music. Then, an apparition of a shell reflected sounds out into the unusual audience. Imaginary harmony along the up and down stage, spiritual uttering for an impressive performance was created along the deserted antique. Later, the sound of gently clapping created emotion.

I remember hearing some kids complaining and enthusiastically playing around. I looked all over the place, but it was very difficult to see a thing. Sometimes beams of light contemplated my eyes, which made me doubt of my inability to remain in a dark place without fear. Wasn’t I trying to get awake? … Since long before my imagination already had started to control me.

I wanted to escape from this place, but an entity didn’t let me open my eyes. I didn’t have the force to even walk, so I just recall slipping through some gloomy stairs which instantly emerged to my side without me realizing. Since the beginning of the travel up I recognized of one of those white lights forcing me to continue. I still don’t remember the cause of such lunatic daring. I mean, why would I try to go into the dark? With my active awe of the darkness I doubted of my presence here.

With still certain immobility I reached the exit. Thereupon, I gazed at a rarefied door, distrusting and remote. Peace, safeness, happiness; feelings I used to sense. I decided to open it, yes, timorously. I wasn’t quite sure of where I was standing, but finally I deduced some machines lying on the floor of such hidden section of the house. It was a place where lighting and sound could be manipulated. So, I therefore thought I was in the catwalk room. Maybe someone was playing with the machines; that would have been the best explanation for everything that had just happened to me. But as soon as I went further, I had the opportunity to descry them.

She was a beautiful woman. It looked like my mom, I thought; despite of the fact that I never saw her, never stared clearly at my mom’s projection. But she was an enchanting woman; that I definitely knew. She wore a white dress with sparkles all around it. In her hands she held a photograph. Then, a picture of my parents outside the theatre was presented in front of my now watery helpless eyes. And suddenly, I perceived a vulnerable essence of death. Within time for me to move, a beam of moonlight reflected towards some gold bright cufflinks. A mature man with a filthy black suit was lying dead. He had a badge which presented his name: “Than Jones.” I wasn’t scared, I recall clearly, even thought I knew the man from before. And then… Feverously, I behold the image of my gentile parents dreadfully killed by the disasters forceful flow. Wasn’t it an imaginary place? ...

All at once, standing motionless, I closed my eyes. There was a bright explosion, warm blistering light emerged and everything disappeared.

I’m now looking at the ceiling of the asylum; a window creates light, a blistering light.