Memories Of The future

Lost Dreams

The sore spot on her arm where she had pinched herself more times than she could count had begun to bruise and it became more painful with every touch, but she undoubtedly knew she had to keep going for as long as she could. The darkness that had enveloped the limited view from her small window told her that she'd been at this for hours and wouldn't be able to keep going much longer. However, she knew what was waiting for her if she didn't and as tired as she was, anything was better than experiencing those dreadful dreams again. Even with her sunken eyes wide open she could still hear the unearthly terrifying screams of poor men and women being tortured, the unimaginable pain radiating from the screams was so strong it was almost palpable. The savage cries of helpless children who had just witnessed their parents murdered in front of them were ingrained in her head and it was as if she could feel their fear in her bones. The putrid smell of the burning flesh of those who were foolish enough to futilely try to run away burned her nose to the point where she felt as if she could hardly breath. They were all innocent people whose only crime was having hope that they could someday be free. The distinct sounds, sights, and smells haunted her any time she spent more than a few minutes with herself.

However, the worst part was that she knew they weren't just dreams. She knew it was real. All the unbearable pain and overwhelming fear was real, or at least was going to be. She didn't know how she knew or why she could see these horrid things but she knew they felt too gruesomely authentic to not be real. She could feel every raw emotion and sensation that the people in her dreams were going through as if she was in their skin even if she herself had never experienced anything like it.

She began experiencing the familiar sensation of her weakened body shutting down, although she detested it there was nothing she could do. She had been conscious for almost a consecutive forty-five hours and knew that no matter what she did, she wouldn't be able to fight the sleep taking over her body. She lay down on her bed and looked around the room with its dull white walls and nothing except a small nightstand where she had a small pile of yellow notepads and a stubby yellow pencil which was always only sharpened to a dull point. The nurses wouldn't allow her to have anything else in her dismal room, in fact she was already pushing it with the pencil. Needless to say it was understandable they would be cautious about her, after all she was the hysterical girl who claimed to have visions. She couldn't help but let a small smile creep onto her face at the thought of what they must think of her. It definitely wasn't something most people would find funny but when you're the only one who knows the world will end in brutal war you seem to develop a bit of cynicism.

The middle aged woman sitting across from me held a very confused look in her dark beady eyes. Almost as if she couldn't make up her mind about whether she should be afraid of me or feel sorry for me. She knew that look very well, she had seen it on the faces of my parents, doctors, nurses over the years, hell sometimes if she looked hard enough she could see it in the mirror. She had only taken a quick look at my file but she could tell that she had already made up her mind about her. In her eyes she was completely crazy. After what felt like an eternity she finally spoke.

"Can you tell me why you're here?" for some reason her voice surprised me. It was soft and sickeningly sweet and for some reason just didn't look like it belonged to her.

"You read my file you should already know."

"Yes, it says that you believe you have visions of the future, but that's not why you're here. You're here because they've taken a physical toll on you. However I want to focus on the first part of that. Your visions of the future. From what I hear you have quit the imagination. Also I see you brought that with you" she pointed to the yellow notepad in my lap.

"Yes, every new psychiatrist asks to see it so it's become a routine."

"Well then that's a good place to start tell me more about what you write"