New, rewritten version. 5/26/17
The days that led up to my eighteenth birthday were definitely something I wish I could rewrite...
For years I was living this lie that I was a normal teenage girl... I had it planned. School, college, job, husban...
During a dream, it is my belief that you aren't supposed to know you are dreaming.
You're supposed to be lost in a haze, dominated by the emotion and desire to just let go; exist in your mind.
Where we go during our dreams has always fascinated me. Why do we disappear into a land of our creation? Is it an escape from a terrible reality? Or just a better one than we know?
It is this constant questioning that alerts me to the fact that I am asleep, but not dreaming.
I am alone in a white room. Not the off white that hospitals call "clean" but the blinding white that makes me flinch when I look at the walls and the floors. The ceiling above me is a cast iron pan with flames licking at the bottom in greedy envy of whatever is inside- black and alive with color dancing in ripples across the surface.
The room seems small, cramping me into a ball, but the colors seem to be eons away. No stars litter the surface of the inky sky. I find myself reaching for the ceiling, all at once touching the colors and watching as they wrap around my hand, and feeling as though I'll never be tall enough to reach them.
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I'm just a little girl, alone in a white room of mysteries, reaching for a black sky that's filled with colors that only I can see.
Two doors appear before me, one to my right, and one to my left. They are white like the room, but thin gold stands of light frame them.
The one on my left wavers and shivers making me think of questions without answers. It's label is 'future' in shivering gold script.
The door on my right stands steady and reliable. I don't bother to read its label. It entices me, guiding me to a safe spot in my mind.
The forgotten aurora from above suddenly surrounds the two doors and I, wrapping us in a plethora of colors as though embracing long lost friends, and I am suddenly seventeen again. I look between the two doors, questioning which to choose.
The wavering makes me wary, so seeking stability, I choose the door to my right.
The door leads to a hallway longer than I can see, lined with doors that ripple with color like the aurora from the sky. The walk way is black with shimmering dots all over the floor. I feel as though the previous room has been flipped upside down and sprinkled with stars.
The first door has a room number on it; 10-27-95. The same sequence as my birthday. Intrigued, I push the door open and smile as I inhale the scent of vanilla, rose, and lavender. 'Mom,' my subconscious screams, though I can't ever remember Lydia Ferbreyo smelling like that.
Inside, I hear a baby cry and I watch as the woman in the hospital bed reaches for a bundle of pink flesh.
"She's beautiful, Lux," the tall, dark haired man beams with pride.
"I know, Killian, just look at her. We made her, and she's gorgeous. And more powerful than she will ever know. My little Millie," Lux smiles brilliantly and leans down to bestow a kiss on the now placated baby's head.
