Escape From Reality

The Attic

The attic reeked of dust.

Upon opening the attic door, a wave of dust rained down on me, causing me to cough rather vigorously as it flew into my face. Blinking out the dust from my eyes, I carefully climbed up the last few steps and stood up in the attic, looking around the clutter. A layer of dust covered almost everything, not even a single clean spot could even be seen in sight.

I guess this is what happens when me and my dad never touched the attic in all the time we lived here, with the exception of moving in of course. I should probably tell my dad about the state of our attic, I thought. It would be a good idea to clean this entire mess up before mold starts growing in here. But then I remembered our argument this morning and huffed at the thought of talking to him again. Maybe not.

My eyes darted around the clutter, trying to find what I was looking for, before my eyes finally landed a cardboard box at the corner of all the clutter. Bingo. I hurried over to the box, still unpacked from when we first moved in. Me and my dad never really had the heart to unpack it. When we moved, fresh after my mother's death, we just mindlessly dumped things in there without really looking. It was pointless to keep them around,but for some reason we just could not throw them away.

Inside the box held my mother's old belongings. Maybe that would give us a clue to what's going on.

I hesitated before opening the box though. Even though it has been 3 years,the raw pain of losing my mother never really went away. Opening this box would reopen old wounds that I might not be brave enough to face. Wounds that I had been avoiding for 3 years. The box seemed to loom over me as I stared at it with shaking hands, wondering if I should really open it. Was I ready to see all this again? The longer I stared, the more nervous I started to feel about even having this idea in the first place.

But I had to find out what was going on. I had to find out what on earth was going on with my dreams and Jacob. I had to get some answers. Even if it meant confronting my mother's death. I took in a deep breath, silently bracing myself for whatever I might find.

The packaging tape made a hiss as I tore it open. I peeled it away before opening the flaps. My mother's things lay in the box, thrown haphazardly inside. Tentatively I reached into the chaos, before pulling out a photograph.

My parents holding hands while posing for a picture by the beach. Dad stared into my mother's eyes in adoration while she had her head thrown back, laughing about something that only the both of them knew. They looked so young and so in love. This was my parents' wedding photo I realised with a start. My mother had wanted her wedding to be at the beach. She loved the ocean. I remember us taking family trips to the beach often ,just because of my mother's love for it. A tear glistened in my eye.

Setting the picture aside gently, I reached in again and my hand made contact with a dusty black leather book. I pulled it out in curiosity, examining the dusty brown cover. I blew onto the cover before wiping the excess dust with the hem of my dress. Slowly as if afraid of what secrets lay inside, I flipped it open.

Immediately I recognised the impeccable handwriting of my mother scrawled across the yellowed cover page.

Dream Journal

So this was her dream journal. My lips pursed in surprise. I didn't know she kept one. I wondered why she never told me about it. But then again,I thought, why would she? This obviously seemed very private. Maybe she didn't want anyone to read it. I looked at the book, hesitating for a moment, not wanting to disrespect my mother's wishes.

However, this could hold an important clue on what was going on. Surely my mother would understand if I read it right? Although feeling like this should be illegal, I flipped the page and forced myself to read the first entry.