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The Dream

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She sat in her room on the dark icy night. She could see the cold frost gathering on her window outside. On the inside, the dust had gathered, screaming of the lack of attention she had given the windowsill. The street lamp on the corner reflected the snowflakes falling through the sky.

If only… She thought, but no such luck. School would continue forever more even in the midst of the snow.

The warmth of her computer on her lap, the quiet fan buzzing in the silence of the night; everything was a perfect, normal night. Only when she finished typing would she settle down underneath her abstract comforter. It was unusually calming, the array of pinks, greens, blues, and purples; the glimpses of orange showing only at a second glance. For being so bold, it was fitting in the simple room. The story came to a gentle close and the computer screen went black, sending messages of relief and exhaustion from the girls’ eyes to her brain. But her brain was already asleep, not ready to awake until the next morning when music would fill her room. Of course, her body and mind were not ready, but the noise came entirely too early, in fact, it had only been an hour since she had put her computer aside.

There sitting next to her was a man. He was in a strange costume that was unfamiliar to her eyes. He had short dark hair and was obviously tall. Though old enough to be her father, he was like a knight come to protect her. But then she realized he was looking past her. Concern in his eyes, he looked at another man lying unconscious on a strange bed. Oh no! It was her father. She turned back to the man, he opened his mouth as if to comfort her and let her know it would be okay, but the sound of an air horn came out. She sat back so shocked she couldn’t even think for a moment.

Reality came back to her as the air horn sound diminished from the air. She looked back at the strange man, but remembered her father. She rushed to her father’s side and felt his clammy hands. He was lying underneath clean sheets. Something wasn’t right; these were white, not cream. Where was she? She lurched forward and hit her head on a cold metal bar on the side of the bed. As her eyes focused again she saw her father’s sweaty face was pale even in the dim light.

Suddenly, she could hear again, a siren was wailing from the car. This was no ordinary car. What was she doing in the back of an ambulance? And even more, what was her father doing unconscious in one? She felt guilty thinking about the cost, but she hadn’t forgotten what kind of emergency they must be in. She looked back at another EMT, as she had figured that’s what the strange costumes were, and stuttered,

“Wh—what’s wrong?”

“It’s just his diabetes.” The man answered as if this was an every day occurrence.

She knew that he was trained to reassure people, not tell them what was going on, but she didn’t press the subject. She could sense that they were unsure about something. There was something very wrong that they weren’t telling her.

She hardly noticed the hospital as she rushed past through the rooms. Even through the chaos around her, it was difficult to be in a place so, white.

Nothing was really making sense now, was she delusional or were these odd happenings really playing out before her eyes? What was happening? The doctors blocked her way as they wheeled her father through those ominous doors leading to his death, their starch white medical coats hanging around their knees. She sat staring at a blank wall only with a simple blue zig-zag pattern. She was brought out of her trance when a hand tapped on her shoulder and looked at her with a sorrowful expression.

No, it couldn’t be. She covered her face with her hands, I never cry. Logic, I can’t be emotional, but my dad is dead.

She stood up but something kept her from moving forward. A wall kept her from going to her father. She backed up and tried to run through but her head hit something very hard that was definitely very real, and very invisible. Trying harder and harder the desperation kept building, she had to get to her father.

She blinked and she rubbed her sore head. She found herself facing her glass balcony door with a large goose-egg on her head, it was already starting to turn purple, and she could feel it. She made her way through the darkness, to the dark wooden door of her parent’s bedroom. She turned the bronze colored knob and peeked in to find both of her parents alive, well, and asleep.

“What a crazy dream” She murmured as she made her way back to her own bedroom. But, was it really a dream?





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