thirteen sleeps // t.j.

awake

i always believed dreams were your mind's way of telling you that everything will be okay. well, good dreams, anyway.

they feed you sweet honey, they show you aromatic gardens and ethereal waterfalls. all the colors are faded, blurred together in a pastel canvas.

nightmares, however, come when your brain is overtaken by a virus. just like people, our brains can get sick, and they're not the same way they're usually are at that time. it vomits monsters, demons, and your worst fears onto your dreams, creating a nightmare.

nightmares are so vivid and colorful, not the dark, clouded scenes most people see. besides, fear heightens our senses as it raises our adrenaline to unimaginable levels. then again, it doesn't make having a nightmare that much better; it just makes them that much more terrifying. they feel so real, so tangible. it feels like you're living your nightmare alive and wide awake.

blood seems to glow scarlet. demons' eyes are a neon yellow. black seems to swallow you whole. any sliver of light is the brightest, blinding shade of white. everything is real, but also not.

and let's say my mind is always sick.

i remember the last good dream i had, but just barely. i haven't had a good dream since a few weeks before my fifteenth birthday. it was one of those dreams that's so simple; you're doing something you would do in real life, too.

i was playing the killers while writing in my room. all of the colors were muted like colors in dreams usually are. the notebook paper was a very pale, but not bright white, bleeding into the baby blue marginal lines. my walls were the night sky on a partly cloudy night. the ceiling was a throng of clouds with gray shadows looming behind them. the picture displayed on my phone screen showed skyscrapers with various shades of blue just barely touching the vast sky above it. each was dotted with a faded spot of hot pink. everything was beautiful.

the first in the decade-long series of nightmares came into my mind the very next day.

it started out like the dream i had the night before; still writing and listening to the killers, but it was one of their later albums this time.

i should've known something was off when the colors were much more vibrant and individualized, but i guess my dream self was too focused on what he was writing.

the cover of this album by the killers used pointillism, and each individual dot stood out like braille. they respected their boundaries, but were all determined to stand out the most.

everything in my dream went awry when the music suddenly stopped, replaced with radio static.

my eyebrows knit as i looked down at my phone. the vibrant, raised dots were still displayed on the screen, but the static still cracked drily.

then, a voice just as crackly as the static spoke through the speakers.

i don't remember what the voice said, but i remember the wave of panic that crashed on me, trying to drown me.

the music resumed playing, but i was too busy hyperventilating and trying to think of a plan to pay attention to it.

i packed a small bag, my mind and heart racing. my eyes darted around my room frantically, and i grabbed the first thing it saw of necessity.

there's a whole gap in this dream, so the only thing i remember after that is being in the woods.

i was running, blinded by charcoal grays and lime greens. a sea of sapphires loomed above my head, reminding me that no matter how far i ran, i can't escape the celestial necklace with clouds sheening on the precious stones.