The Dream

My Mummy died when I was young she was only twenty seven. She had beautiful long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. I was seven years old at the time of her unfortunate death. I can still remember the night it happened, as if it was only yesterday.

It was a Sunday, five days after Mummy's birthday. Mummy tucked me in and kissed me good night. Then she went to her bed as she did every night. I woke up during the night after a bad dream, or at least that's what I thought. I went to Mummy's bedroom and crawled into the bed with her. "Mummy, I'm scared. Can I sleep with you tonight?" I asked softly. But Mummy never replied. I put my arm around her and went to sleep. In the morning when I woke up, I found Mommy dead in the bed next to me. There was blood everywhere. She was cold and pale. I later learnt that Mummy had been dead for quite some time.

I heard a thump downstairs, I slowly made my way down the stairs with caution. It was Father. He was stumbling around the house in the dark. He was drunk again. I went down and cried, "Mummy!" I couldn't say anything else but Mummy, "Mummy ... Mummy ... Mummy" I repeated. Father looked over to me and yelled, "Shut up, you stupid child." I ran upstairs and hugged Mummy, I never let go of her.

I don't know how long I was asleep for but when I woke up, I wasn't in Mummy's bedroom. I was in a car, the man driving the car told me that he was a police officer and that he was taking me to the police station. When we arrived they asked me questions. All I could say was Mummy, I wanted to tell them my dream, but all that came out was Mummy.

Father was never a good dad, he never came to any of my performances, he would come home late, drunk and he always fought with mummy. When he wasn't drunk he would just watch TV and not pay any attention to me or Mummy.

Days passed, Father only got worse. He started drinking more. He would hit me and tell me it was all my fault. No one knew anything about Mummy's murder. Father would go out and return the next day drunk. He would hit me and call me names.

A year had passed, I saw Father less and less. Until one day I never saw him again. It was late at night. I had a dream that Father came home late at night. He was drunk and he hit me. I grabbed a knife and tried to stab him, but he blocked it with his hand and then I struck again. I woke up, breathing heavily and sweating.

I heard Father downstairs. I went down to have a look. It was dark, the lights weren't on. I saw the silhouette of Father in the darkness, he was in the kitchen. I slowly made my way to the kitchen, touching the wall as I made my way in the dark. I flicked the light on and saw Father bent over the bench. Blood dripping from his hand; a bandage covered in blood warped around his palm. Then I saw, a knife in his hand covered in blood. I screamed. He turned around quickly. He had a deep wound in his stomach also. He yelled, "You did this. You stabbed me!" I ran upstairs and he followed. "No, No, No. It couldn't have been me." I yelled while I closed the bathroom door and locked it. Father banged on the door. "Let me in you stupid brat!" He shouted. I cried and cried. Then the banging stopped, I opened the door slowly and found Father lying in a pool of blood in front of the door.

"It was just a dream, it was just a dream." I repeated in my head over and over. "I didn't kill Father, it was only a dream."

The police never found out who killed Father and since there was no one left to take care of me they took me into a foster home, where I would get adopted by a lovely couple. They were so nice and I loved them, they had a big house and they treated me like I was their own. They bought be a dog and we went on holidays. Then one night, it all changed. I had a dream ...