Dreamscape

six

ANJA

Why do I see my own eyes? That's the same light brown, and that's my face! Round, framed by long, dark wavy hair I didn't bother to tie up. For a split-second, I could see my own body, sitting underneath an oak tree. I was viewing my own body from the outside, and I saw I was hugging my shins beside a young man with bronze-colored skin, and beautiful, sparkling grey eyes.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. When I opened them again, I was gone, and in front of me, the sea, the ship, the stars above. I could the familiar sense of dread again. It's turning into another grey dream, filled with death and despair.

Please. I want to wake up.

∵

I sat up again, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down my face and my chest. It was probably morning, but when I checked my phone, it was only 10:43 pm. I've only been asleep for a little over five hours, and I needed more.

I was sitting up in my dark room, staring into space. I should be used to dying in my dreams, but I never seem to be prepared for the sensation, the actual ringing silence when it's all done. But it never goes past that. Even in dreams, I could not see what life there was after death.

But before that, I could see my own face. It was strange watching your own body, but I suppose it happens sometimes in dreams. I was only thinking of that trip to the past, that my tired brain manufactured this scene. Rationalizing. That's what I'm doing. It keeps me sane, I think.

I willed myself to get up, pushing my body off my wooden-framed double bed, with random junk littered around me, from notebooks, to my writing journals kept for my courses, to this empty chip bag that must have been there for a day now. Cursing myself, I vowed to clean up my room, get rid of all the mess that was only serving to stress me out even further.

I'm hungry. I forgot to charge my phone before I went to bed, and it only has ten percent of its battery left. I let out an exasperated sigh, and roll my eyes at my own stupidity.

"Fucking idiot," I aptly described myself, under my breath. I fished for my charger amidst all the trash spread out around my bed, and I plugged in my phone. Even my iPod was dead. How the hell am I supposed to go out to eat, without my music? I'm supposed to walk in silence?

This is all your fault. I admonished myself, and grabbed my hoodie again. The chilly October weather has me pulling out my warm clothes, but I'm not complaining. I like it when it's cold, just as long as I have my hoodie on me. I stepped out the door, the breeze hitting my cheeks. I pulled out the elastic holding my hair together in a bun, and let the messy waves roll down the sides of the face, trapping it in a wild tangle of thick, brown hair.

Dinner was uneventful. Spaghetti and pizza. I managed to survive the walk to Pizza Pop by thinking over the different scenes I needed to play out in my current creative writing courses. The orange streetlights illuminated the busy streets outside the campus, with many others – students and San Laurel residents alike, walking about and minding their own business. A few times, like always, I catch the eye of a stranger, and we play this game of stares for a few seconds until either one of us decide that it's time to look away.

I'm walking slowly along, despite it being almost 12 midnight, the still busy street outside Amory's gates. I held onto the strap of my messenger bag, slung across my right shoulder.

The Wallpaper! Of course, how could I not have thought of that immediately? I was too awake. The Wallpaper is the place I need to be in, now. I made my way, my feet almost moving on their own. I didn't have my music, but I trusted the music at the Yellow Wallpaper. I have no idea who picks out the songs they play, but I like most of them.