I was always a light sleeper. Never really got the hang of the whole „once my head touches the pillow I’m out and don’t know nor want to know about my surroundings for the next 12 hours” thing. Not that kinda gal. I mean I wish. Nothing sounded better after a particularly heavy week of school than just sleeping through the residential pain and possible dissapointment, being unconscious, you know for a few hours. But it just never happened. At least not after I turned 13.
Not after my mother died.
Actually I should have known. If my mind wasn’t so clouded by grief. If we didn’t decide to ignore june the 21th. To ignore the facts and happenings that came with it. But I was 13. A kid. Still am. With my 19 years I can’t really say that I have a lot of life experience. Aside from the occasional sneeking out with friends to watch a late night movie and one particular occasion at a party where Michael Addams, my high school mate, tried to snog me even after I clearly stated my aversion to that, so I sucker punched him in the face. But back to the original topic.
Call me a baby, but up until I was 12 most nights I feel asleep with my mother sitting or lying beside me in bed. After making sure I had my necklace on, she read me stories, told me made up ones too, and sometimes sang, all while stroking my hair until I fell asleep. Then dreamt about anything and everything. Light almost white blond hair - my mother -, bearded laughs - my father -, and really it sounds cliché but all was perfect.
It may seem childish with the whole sleeping with my mom although I'm almost a high school student, but again I was a child, and it made me happy. Really happy. Then during the last year of her life she changed. Not particularly in a very bad way, she didn’t suddenly took a 180. She just became… sadder. I mean that happened every year around my birthday. I always thought it was because I became older and it was a nostalgic kind of sadness.
Oh boy how I was wrong.
On the off chance when she managed to stay with me during the night, she cried many times thinking I was asleep. And I was afraid to ask her what was wrong. Until it was too late.
She disappeared on my birthday actually. My much awaited 13th birthday. She just just straight up vanished.
That is when the nightmares started. Or dreams? How I saw them usually depended on the night.
And you know what the weirdest thing was? They all seemed so real. Lands with the greenest grass. Just a huge flying grin slowly disappearing behind a thick cloud of smoke. Houses made of cards. Mushrooms bigger than our house. Roses as white as snow and scarlet just like blood. Creatures big and small. A red headed man with a hat bigger than his head.
Other times it was less cheerful things. Like impenatrable fog. Trees bleeding in deep red and black. Shadows that seemed solid but at the same time like they weren’t all there. The worst ones were the screams. Horrible sounds echoing around the forest.
So yeah, maybe me being a light-sleeper is more like me feeling like I'm not sleeping at all. Being awake but in a dreamlike state.
And that’s what they all were supposed to be. Dreams. No more no less.
They were the most vivid around my birthday though.
So that’s how it was. The year was slowly but surely passing. Mom’s "date" was approaching. Me and my father didn’t really waste time anymore on my birthday so there was never really any hassle about it. And I was glad for the fact. The dreams became more erratic. Real. The date passed. And all was good. Then everything started all over again. Every single year.
But not this one. Noooo this year was different. Because even after the dreaded day, june the 21th I only had 9 months to – so to say – rest. Because on april the 1st I found myself in a dream non like any other before. And later gotten a scar non like ever before.
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