I'm in the room again. It's dark, damp, and cold. I can hear breathing, but it isn't mine. There are no windows, no one else is here, but in front of me there is a door, dripping water from around its trim. The door itself is completely waterlogged, and if I press my fingers into it, it gives a little, like bread, or soggy cereal. The doorknob isn't a doorknob but a large seashell, and the trim is like seaweed mixed with some kind of coral. It's seawater, and yet it isn't. I reach for the door, and when it opens, the room floods, and I awaken.
The dream is lost to me now, a distant memory I know nothing about, yet I relive it every night, and awaken to a sweat-soaked bed. It's become routine now, cleaning my sheets at night once I've woken up, and I fear I've become too comfortable in its repetition. Yet, when the dream comes, I know, something always sticks. A word, a feeling, or even the vision of an object. This time it was all three. When I awoke, the last fleeting thought relating to my dream was of the horizon one might see when looking out over the ocean, accompanied by the feeling of dread and of being watched, and the word, "Freedom," seemingly etched into my eyelids. I know not what this dream wants of me, but I feel drawn to the need to understand, I yearn for the knowledge that my dream seems to offer, and I fear that with said knowledge comes great disaster. And yet, I can no longer recall its details, as if whatever the origin of the dream may be is blocking my conscious mind from view. I must know, and so I leave for the sea tomorrow, to discover what lies hidden in the deep.
YOU ARE READING
The Dark Depths: The Deep
Mystère / ThrillerIn my dreams it calls to me, The spirit of the deep blue sea. To know the things I do not know, I venture where no else shall go. My dreams are now reality, The thing I see, the sea, is me. Book Two of the Dark Depths Trilogy
