October 26, 2011
By Zenitram BRONZE, Salem, Oregon
Zenitram BRONZE, Salem, Oregon
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Every time I hear them, their deafening tones control my body as I drop to my knees and to my head as if I am bowing down to a higher power. I feel an intense pressure bearing down; entering into the back of my head, and digging an exit through the front of my face. They push my limits too far; I want to scream, but I can only grunt as my teeth gnash with drowning misery. I feel as if my head will burst into flames as the result of spontaneous combustion. Oh how I wish my head turns into nothingness; like alcohol evaporating when set ablaze. I want to be set free of this internal prison in my head; this h*ll. I can hear the chimes.

No one in the monastery can hear the chimes, only I must be haunted with the never-ending torture caused by the them. The elders believe that I am becoming possessed by the demons and witches lurking in the shadows of the massive hallways in the monastery, but they are wrong, and always are. The elders and teachers always try to teach us about our orthodox responsibilities as monks, but I don't always agree with their teachings. These are not demons, these are things much greater, things with much more meaning than they seem. They is trying to tell me something; trying to warn me of what is to come. Something great is going to happen, I just don't know what that something might be.

It is late noon, and I am at a table eating with the teachers and elders of the monastery. They lift their spoons to eat, and I become unusually hesitant to do so. Everyone looks at me with astonishment and perplexity; they look at me like I have ruined a cycle, or committed a sin that will doom humanity as we know it. Confused, I pick up my spoon to stop this awkward feeling in the room. My teachers, elders, and peers all start to eat in a fast motion, and start to dip their heads in and out of their bowls as if they are dehydrated hounds stuffing their heads into bowls of water. The bowls start to consume their heads and cover their faces as if they are bearing crowns upon their faces and scalps. Suddenly their crowned faces bow to the table, and their heads shatter as their faces meet the cold oak wood surface of the table; they are dead. I suddenly shriek as I jump out of bed; I am awake.

I tell no one of my dream, and do not intend to. These dreams keep haunting me, and they don't stop. It is late in the evening and we are eating supper; and I feel the same awkwardness as I did in my nightmare before. Again I feel the fear to pick up my spoon, but I do. My elders motion their spoons to their bowls, and as they do so, I hear the chimes. Something is happening; it is happening.

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