Two Worlds

CHAPTER ONE

        Every morning the blaring sound of my small alarm clock on my nightstand jars me out of the same vague but unsettling dream. I jolt up, smashing the snooze button as hard as I possibly can. Still half asleep, I swing my legs off the edge of my bed, taking a few moments to recover from my nightmare. Every night I see the same charred remains of a house standing in the pale morning light. I can tell it used to be so alive, so vibrant. Inside had been a place of love and security, a place with memories and warmth. Now the wind whistles through and the steady rain falls right into the twisted plastic and metal that had been furniture and electronics. In the ashes, there are photographs, art, and personal possessions. Flashes of an inferno and black smoke replaced the skeleton of the home. Orange flames blow out the windows. I can feel the radiating heat on my face. When there are only bones and dust left, I can hear the faint cry of a baby. In my dream, I can walk in the charred home, and in the main room, I can see something truly horrifying. There, laying on the damaged ground, are two charred corpses. The fire had caused its destruction. The singed skin of the victims are intertwined in their clothing. The smell of over-cooked flesh is in the air. The whole scene is truly unsettling. I can never stay inside the house for long. Even if it is just a dream, I can smell the burnt flesh, the scorched wood, and plastic. I can feel the heat of the fire, the warmth of my tears streaming down my face as I stand and stare at the unholy scene. The relief I feel every time I hear the sound of my alarm is truly wonderful.

        My friends always joke that it's some kind of prophecy or something that happened in a past life, though it feels so much more real than that. It feels like a memory. A memory of my childhood. A childhood that I can not remember. Every time I try to think back on my past, I only see an empty void, a black hole. It feels like it's been erased from my memory. My therapist says that something traumatic most likely happened during my childhood and my subconscious mind chooses to forget. He says I might never remember what happened and that's normal for most people in my situation. However, for some inexplicable reason, I want to know, I want to remember, I want answers. I want to understand the reason behind these graphic and unsettling dreams.

        Every morning is the same, wake up, eat, go to work. It seems like I'm trapped in an unbreakable cycle. However, this morning is a bit different than other mornings. One of my oldest friends "voluntold" me to go on a blind date with a woman of her choosing. I had no say in this matter, I owed her for helping me move out of my adoptive parents home. She is good at holding a grudge about these kinds of things and I know I don't want to see her angry. The woman is petite, but extremely scary when she does not get her way.

        After a few more minutes of sitting on the edge of my bed reenacting my dream in my head over and over again, I got out of bed. I opened my blackout curtains and window to let the autumn air in. I took a few moments to enjoy the weather, the falling leaves, and the faint beeping of cars that passed by. It was still early in the morning, so the traffic outside my apartment was still pretty quiet. Before I headed to my bathroom for a shower I took a deep breath of cool and damp air.

        I grabbed my phone off my nightstand, put on my morning playlist, and pressed shuffle. The first song that started playing was Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas. A good jam to wake up to. Singing along, I took off my old mixed matched pyjamas and stepped into my hot and steamy shower.

        As water poured down, dripping by my side, my mind faded into dullness and everything around me was a cloudy illusion. The sensation of the steamy water calmed me. It took my mind off of my dream for just a few moments. My mind swirled, and it felt like I was standing under an everlasting waterfall.

        After a pleasant and relaxing 20 minutes, I got out, wrapped myself in a soft black towel, and stood in front of my foggy bathroom mirror. I contemplated if I should just bail out of this date and go back to bed where it's nice and warm. Being social and meeting new people gives me so much anxiety. Nevertheless, I promised my friend that I would go and I would never break a promise, that's for sure. I took another glance in the mirror and sighed. I grabbed my comb and brushed my jet-black hair. I pulled it into a slick high ponytail making sure there were no bumps or stray hairs. Since I was going on a date I decided to put on some long silver bar stud earrings that my adoptive mother gave to me before she passed. It's been a few years since my foster mother passed away from a heart attack. She never really felt like a real mother to me, still whenever I needed her, she was there.