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DREAMS

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I’ve never really focused on any dream I have, but this one I had was so peculiar –so different from the ones I usually have of me accidentally cutting my fingers clean off. In this dream, I was back in Doha, Qatar, my birthplace. And for some strange reason, I was hiding behind my apartment building from something. This is just the commencement of the dream of course, so I was obviously confused at the occurrences that transpired in the beginning.



The walls of the apartment buildings used to be white, but now they were smeared with filth and graphite, most probably from the ignorance and unawareness of the people who lived there. So I was reluctant to lean against any of the walls because they were so dirty. Suddenly, I remembered where I was so I was joyful. My very first best friend I’ve ever had lived next to my building. I hadn’t seen her (Nissi) or her brother (Benson) in about three and a half years. I had missed them so much. I remember some of the littlest of details of this dream, unlike the time I dreamt of The Apocalypse.

I got up from my hiding place and ran to the next building, a goofy smile plastered on my face. Nissi (who I called Shirin), and Benson, my friends opened the door as if they were expecting me. I embraced them and the rest of their family members, my emotions on certain imbalance. I don’t remember reading a daunting book or seeing a frightening movie, but from then on, the dream took a turn for the worse.

I left the apartment, content seeing all my friends again and finally came face to face with a heavy-set man holding a knife. His appearance –little by little –is coming to me as I write this. He was large and tall to me –but I think he may be considered short by other people. He had a thick black moustache and small black, beady eyes. His skin was brown and covered with various white scars, and he may have worn this strange, scarlet, Indian garment with green beads around his neck, but I’m not really sure. Looking at him, I knew he was dangerous, especially since he was playing with a pocketknife, twisting it around in his hand, occasionally pointing it at me.

He opened his mouth and spoke a language I didn’t know: Tamil, I guessed. I slowly backed away from him and pounded on Shirin’s door. The door was unlocked so I ran in and bolted the door real fast. I sighed and turned around to see horror –a dream turning into a nightmare in mere seconds.

Aunt Ruby, Shirin’s mom, was on the dark blue carpet, a large red welt on her forehead and neck. I couldn’t scream. She was holding something in-between her fingers, which lay at her side. I cautiously leaned closer to look, when I realized it was a tongue. Her tongue. A shriek was caught in my throat. I didn’t try to wake myself up because there was the problem that I hadn’t yet realized that this was all just a nightmare.

There was a thud at the door behind me. I regained my composure and scrambled to the master bedroom for a refuge. Of course, there was also the option of calling the police, but in dreams, they don’t exist. There, in that large bedroom, I witnessed the rest of the Bensy family hung by thick ropes around their necks, dangling from the strong ceiling fan. What made things worse was that the fan was turned on to a slow speed, so the rest of the dead family rotated around like human ornaments.

I didn’t know what to do then. I guess I woke up there, ending this creepy dream, wondering to myself: “What the heck was that?” Then I must’ve muttered something about turtles and went back to sleep, thinking of the delusion no more.





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