Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Dream Dance

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
There’s so many dancers. They’re beautiful. I have to touch one…just to make sure they’re real. I reach out…
The girl screams. They turn towards me…They’re closing in….I’m not waking up…Why can’t I wake up?

I wander through the room, the orchestra ringing in my ears. Why won’t they answer me?
I push through the great wall of frills and lace. The princesses won’t even look at me. No one will. Except him.
He stands, glaring at me, his eyes as dark as his suit. He walks towards me with long strides. He glides gracefully past the dancers; they don’t see him, they continue their fairytale ball around us, caught in their own magical world.
I turn and run, diving through the twirling towers around me. I have to get away from him.
The doors slam themselves before I reach them. The beautiful persona that had once surrounded me had vanished.
I pull the handles, kicking at the wood. I am crying; I can hardly see anymore.
He is still here. He is still coming to get me. I am still trapped. He is getting closer…and closer. I can feel his cold breath on my neck.
I sit upright, panting. Dad is yelling at Mum. I hear the thump as Mum falls to the ground. They’re too busy fighting and drinking to worry about my nightmares.
I curl up, pulling the covers to my chin. I need to sleep. But I can’t avoid the demon who haunts my dreams. I probably never will.
I climb out of bed as the room floods with sunlight. I pull my favourite pink dress over my head, and toddle down the stairs.
Mum is sat the table, cigarette perched between her yellowing claws, her bruised eye shining beneath the dim, shade-less light bulb swinging slowly from the chipping ceiling.
I slip past her to the kitchen. The fridge hangs open, the few cans of beer left occupying the middle shelf. Unless you count a few furry tomatoes, the cans were the only things in the warm fridge.
I rummage through the cupboards. Crisps for breakfast. Again.
I stare at my reflection in the hall mirror. I think I am pretty average for five. I have thin black hair and big brown eyes. I don’t look as much like a princess as I would like, but thankfully I am not an ugly witch. There is little else worse that I can think of. Except my nightmares. Princesses never have nightmares. Lucky things.

I sit at my desk, staring at the board. Algebra is not an easy subject, but after having no sleep for the past three nights, I was not having a good time.
My eyes are drooping. I cant fall asleep. I earned myself the nickname ‘Nightmare Natalie’ when I was eleven. I am thirteen now, and it hasn’t faded.
I focus on my work. (k5+z(4u-9s))/(dX8w). How am I meant to work that out?
I yawn. I can’t help it. I need to sleep.
But I am still afraid of him.

I sit on my bed, staring down at my notes. I need to pass my exams tomorrow. But how can I when I am falling asleep almost all the time?
Sighing, I begin to pace my room, staring down at my boots. I look up at my reflection. Despite the blistering heat roasting the town, I am as pale as a ghost. Against my thin black hair, my translucent white skin makes me look vampiric. So I dress to support it, with dark clothes and several silvery bars lining my thin face.
I adjust a hoop rested on my lower lip before looking back at my notes.
My eyes close as I fall back on to the bed.
I push through the dancers. I am almost as tall as them now. But I have never compared myself to him. I am too afraid.
He strides towards me, the enchanted dancers flickering from existence. There is little space between me and him now.
He leers above me. For the fist time in fifteen years of nightmares, I can see him clearly. His cold, grey eyes. Dead, blue skin. He is so tall and thin, his skin seems to be stretched over his skeleton. ‘Just a bag of bones’ Nana would say. His funeral suit is spotless, the white rose in his button hole seeming to glow.
He plucks the flower from his suit, and balances it gently behind my ear. I feel the stem grow, thorns extending into my head and neck.
Yelling, I try to pull the fatal rose from my skull. The petals fall away. The last thing I see before I wake is the blood splatter across the delicate white.
I wake up, sweat and tears streaming down my face. I run my hand through my hair. A rose falls from behind my ear.
The only thing destroying the beauty of the brilliant white petals is a splatter of blood staining the blossom.

I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is perfect. My make up is perfect. My dress is perfect; layered white silky fabric, like an up-side-down rose.
I smile at my reflection. This is my big day. And no nightmares are going to ruin it for.
I have not dared to confront him since that time when I was fifteen.
A horn blares outside. My ride awaits.
The prom is beautiful. The great hall in the castle has been transformed into a magnificent ballroom, like a fairytale.
I dance alone. No one ever speaks to me, never mind ask me to dance.
The orchestra begin to play a ballad. My dance halts abruptly. I know this song. I’ve heard it every night for sixteen years. This is the song the orchestra plays in dream.
I look around. It is all exactly like my dream. The decoration. My class-mates dancing. Why had I never recognised them before?
He’s here. He strides towards me as I run for the doors. As ever, they slam before I reach them.
He leers over me, tucking the rose behind my ear. The stew grows, the thorns extending into my scalp. It wraps it self around my body, binding me, blood soaking into my rose-like dress.
Then it’s gone. Just like that. But he isn’t.
He curls his arm around my waist, and pulls me into the dance. But I do not pull away. I am loving every second of it. My dream dance, stretching on into infinity.

There’s so many dancers. They’re beautiful. I have to touch one…just to make sure they’re real. I reach out…
The girl screams. They turn towards me…They’re closing in….I’m not waking up…Why can’t I wake up?



Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

Site Feedback