There is something to be envied for those that do not dream. To sleep in blissful ignorance every night and wake up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Not for me. Every night I relive the same dream over and over again. The same scene, the same effects and the same ending that leaves me frustrated. And tonight is no different.
A coveted sky like a black, satin sheet sprinkled with thousands of tiny, delicate sparkling diamonds dazzle above me. The cool, fine, golden sand beneath my feet feels very familiar. This domain is no stranger to me, I’ve been stuck in this groundhog dream for the past three years.
The glowing moon offers the only form of light. After my first few visits here, I realised that I was never going to get the bright, hypnotic sphere in my hands, but it still doesn’t stop me from trying to reach out.
Walking forwards, I take in the familiar scenery. To my left, the waves from the sea repeat an exact timed performance dancing teasingly towards my feet, never once touching my skin. The silence was slightly disconcerting. Not a solitary sound to penetrate the night.
My long, white dress clings to me like a second skin, there is no wind not even a mischievous breeze yet my dress flutters making my skin feel as though it’s being caressed by thousands of delicate butterfly wings. It almost appears luminous in the moonlight. This is the one part of this strange illusion I wouldn’t change, I liked the dress. Its thin elegant straps and plain design are perfect as far as a dress can be. I glance behind me to see the dress dance along the golden, sugar sand and as always there is no trace of my footprints, not even a slight indentation where I’ve stepped. The sand is perfectly undisturbed, I can only assume that it’s part of the illusion and not due to the self-misconception of believing that I am so light on my feet that I leave no imprint in the sand. Despite my endless return trips here, I always find myself doing the same things I usually do.
Picturesque and tranquil surroundings are somewhat utopic. The sand dunes protrude, protectively high to my right. Up ahead I see the lighthouse standing proud, high up on the cliff edge, that’s when I realise that I’m not alone. Up ahead, directly below the lighthouse at the base of the cliff is a figure. Between the moonlight and the crepuscular shadows from the cliff it gives the impression that it is moving but never closing in.
My eyes try desperately to focus on it. Step after step, my own legs betraying me taking me closer towards the dark presence. My mind is fighting a losing battle with my limbs. My heart thumps hard in my chest threatening to break out with each beat. I can’t be more than fifty feet away when my focus starts to become more comprehensible. It glides towards me in a hypnotic pace. Both of us stop at exactly the same time almost as though we were linked. The figure is wearing a dark hooded cloak that moves as if it is liquid velvet. The hood is shadowing the face beneath so I can’t see who or what it is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was hovering above the sand. So many emotions flit through my mind, curiosity, confusion, anxiety, worry, all at once. Suddenly the waves stop, coming to a complete standstill mid wave. The beacon for the lighthouse comes to a stop pointing out to sea.
The cloaked figure makes no attempt to close the last thread of distance between us. My heart is beating so hard that my whole body feels as though it’s vibrating. I try to take a step forward but my legs feel heavy, my arms hang down my sides unable to move. My eyes are locked onto the figure in front of me. My whole body refuses to do what my mind is telling it. Something appears behind the figure. I didn’t notice it before until now as it looms threateningly over the smaller one. The new figure is cloaked too, dark and ragged. Two pale, skeletal hands emerge at either side of the smaller cloaked hood from behind. Thin, boned fingers wrap around the edges of the cloaks hood slowly beginning to draw the liquid material back. Just then, I hear I deep, cavernous growl…
Eyes wide open I regain my breathing to a more normal pace. I hate the term “normal”; I’ve never believed that anything in this world is normal, far from it to be honest. For the past three years I have had the same recurring dream, as always just as the hood of the cloak is about to be pulled back I wake up! It is really frustrating. Nothing changes, exactly the same thing over and over again. The first few times I started having them I thought I was losing my marbles. In fact, so did Molly, my best friend when I told her. She even offered to perform a lobotomy, just in case. You can always count on your best friend to be there for you, and offer back-street surgeries that hadn’t been around since the turn of the century. So I decided to take the less extreme route and check out one of the dream books from my book/witchcraft store that me, my mum and my gran own. Not that it helped at all. I got so confused when trying to figure out what it all meant that it usually resulted in a killer migraine.
There is something to be envied for those that do not dream. To sleep in blissful ignorance every night and wake up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Not for me. Every night I relive the same dream over and over again. The same scene, the same effects and the same ending that leaves me frustrated. And tonight is no different.
A coveted sky like a black, satin sheet sprinkled with thousands of tiny, delicate sparkling diamonds dazzle above me. The cool, fine, golden sand beneath my feet feels very familiar. This domain is no stranger to me, I’ve been stuck in this groundhog dream for the past three years.
The glowing moon offers the only form of light. After my first few visits here, I realised that I was never going to get the bright, hypnotic sphere in my hands, but it still doesn’t stop me from trying to reach out.
Walking forwards, I take in the familiar scenery. To my left, the waves from the sea repeat an exact timed performance dancing teasingly towards my feet, never once touching my skin. The silence was slightly disconcerting. Not a solitary sound to penetrate the night.
My long, white dress clings to me like a second skin, there is no wind not even a mischievous breeze yet my dress flutters making my skin feel as though it’s being caressed by thousands of delicate butterfly wings. It almost appears luminous in the moonlight. This is the one part of this strange illusion I wouldn’t change, I liked the dress. Its thin elegant straps and plain design are perfect as far as a dress can be. I glance behind me to see the dress dance along the golden, sugar sand and as always there is no trace of my footprints, not even a slight indentation where I’ve stepped. The sand is perfectly undisturbed, I can only assume that it’s part of the illusion and not due to the self-misconception of believing that I am so light on my feet that I leave no imprint in the sand. Despite my endless return trips here, I always find myself doing the same things I usually do.
Picturesque and tranquil surroundings are somewhat utopic. The sand dunes protrude, protectively high to my right. Up ahead I see the lighthouse standing proud, high up on the cliff edge, that’s when I realise that I’m not alone. Up ahead, directly below the lighthouse at the base of the cliff is a figure. Between the moonlight and the crepuscular shadows from the cliff it gives the impression that it is moving but never closing in.
My eyes try desperately to focus on it. Step after step, my own legs betraying me taking me closer towards the dark presence. My mind is fighting a losing battle with my limbs. My heart thumps hard in my chest threatening to break out with each beat. I can’t be more than fifty feet away when my focus starts to become more comprehensible. It glides towards me in a hypnotic pace. Both of us stop at exactly the same time almost as though we were linked. The figure is wearing a dark hooded cloak that moves as if it is liquid velvet. The hood is shadowing the face beneath so I can’t see who or what it is. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear it was hovering above the sand. So many emotions flit through my mind, curiosity, confusion, anxiety, worry, all at once. Suddenly the waves stop, coming to a complete standstill mid wave. The beacon for the lighthouse comes to a stop pointing out to sea.
The cloaked figure makes no attempt to close the last thread of distance between us. My heart is beating so hard that my whole body feels as though it’s vibrating. I try to take a step forward but my legs feel heavy, my arms hang down my sides unable to move. My eyes are locked onto the figure in front of me. My whole body refuses to do what my mind is telling it. Something appears behind the figure. I didn’t notice it before until now as it looms threateningly over the smaller one. The new figure is cloaked too, dark and ragged. Two pale, skeletal hands emerge at either side of the smaller cloaked hood from behind. Thin, boned fingers wrap around the edges of the cloaks hood slowly beginning to draw the liquid material back. Just then, I hear I deep, cavernous growl…
Eyes wide open I regain my breathing to a more normal pace. I hate the term “normal”; I’ve never believed that anything in this world is normal, far from it to be honest. For the past three years I have had the same recurring dream, as always just as the hood of the cloak is about to be pulled back I wake up! It is really frustrating. Nothing changes, exactly the same thing over and over again. The first few times I started having them I thought I was losing my marbles. In fact, so did Molly, my best friend when I told her. She even offered to perform a lobotomy, just in case. You can always count on your best friend to be there for you, and offer back-street surgeries that hadn’t been around since the turn of the century. So I decided to take the less extreme route and check out one of the dream books from my book/witchcraft store that me, my mum and my gran own. Not that it helped at all. I got so confused when trying to figure out what it all meant that it usually resulted in a killer migraine.
D H Evans 