Intention By Design

So We're Doing This?

There are several notable types of nightmares. Sometimes they are short and only slightly unsettling, coming to a sharp and sudden halt upon awakening. Those ones are pretty forgettable, they leave no real lasting impact on their unwilling creator.

Some are like a mini horror movie where the dreamer is desperately trying to get away from something or another, only to wake up with a little burst of adrenaline. Easily pushed aside, these dreams are disconcerting but bearable.

The most unpleasant kind, however, are not so easily trivialized. These types of dreams feel endless. Something terrible has happened, settling a deep seated dread deep within your very being, and oh, if only it were just a dream, but then you awake and that's exactly the case.

Blinking away the night's sleep and stretching doesn't work to properly erase these nightmares, it only slows their progress. For hours and even days afterward, the afflicted's pupils are shaky and mind even more so. There's an uncomfortable sense of distrust and unease that paints the world in the weeks that proceed a dream which claws its way into the real world.

Yuuri referred to that genre of nightmare as a 'twaddle' due to their nonsensical ability to touch upon reality. The night before the free skate, he was unfortunate enough to have been graced with a twaddle of magnum consequence.

It started off simple enough, with Yuuri skating figures as he often did when stressed. There were specks of ice dotting the air from his blade's steady, fluid movements, rhythmically tracing the same path on repeat. The lights were dim, allowing the sun's gentle light to filter through the broad windows lining the rink's exterior.

Jarring Yuuri from his meditative trance, an announcer's voice was broadcast over the Ice Castle's loudspeakers. 

A song he was hardly familiar with began playing. It was some late 2000's pop tune, what was it called again? That's right, 1901... but why was it playing? Why were cheers of his name and claps keeping up with the rhythm?

Were these unwelcome intruders expecting Yuuri to perform to a song he could hardly remember? Why were all of these people at his childhood rink? It was supposed to be a safe space, like Minako's ballet studio.

Why were they trying to take this away from him? Hadn't they taken enough?

Yuuri's breaths became labored as he tried to form a game plan. Was he capable of creating a program on the spot? Improv was his worst nightmare. He was the kind of person who practiced things to perfection, bordering on neurotic, otherwise the concern of crippling failure overtook each sway and step.

He couldn't do this. Not there, and not to that song, and not in front of those expectant faces. Were his parents somewhere in that crowd? Were Yuuko and Takeshi watching with Minako?

Yuuri gagged and keeled over onto the ice, vision spotty and eyes locked into a dissociative trance. There goes his chance for the finals. The finals...?

The teen awoke with a wet gasp. Leaking a disgusting amount of sweat from every pore, Yuuri blinked into the dark room. It was extra disorienting due to the fact that when he had originally drifted off, it was still light outside.