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Array
(
[sid] => 137412
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Just a dream
[time] => 2007-09-20 16:35:49
[hometext] => This one is quite long, be prepared to read for a few minutes.
[bodytext] => I awoke with a rage and anger that I had never felt before. “Where am I?” I thought to myself. I was trapped in a room, a black room with no recollection of how I got there. I got up off the black-tiled floor and began on my search for a door. To my surprise there were none, no doors, no windows, and no means of escape. The only thing in this black-painted room was myself, a light with a dim bulb and one more 10 watt bulb, I guess the light ran on batteries because there was no chord or outlet to be found. There was also a painting on the wall with a description underneath which read: “The Garden of Death Hugo Simberg.” This painting showed 3 skeletons in black robes caring for plants in a garden-setting. Upon further search I found a .38 special with a tray of bullets and a rusty straight-edge razor blade. I was on the verge of tears questioning who had put me in this room, and why had they done this? I laid down on the floor and sobbed to myself asking these questions over and over. After I was done crying, I arose determined to find an exit. I walked around the entire room knocking on the walls searching for any hollow place where they might have sealed a door or window. I found none, the room was completely alone, I was completely alone. I did everything I could think of to get out of that hell. I punched the walls until my knuckles bled, I shot the walls but it seemed the bullets had no effect. I saved ten bullets for later in case I wanted to try again. There was no telling how long I had been in the room, it felt like days but I doubt it was more than a few hours; however I was tired so I decided to sleep and hope to awaken from this nightmare. The next day, or night, I woke again feeling hungry and extremely thirsty, I longed for water more than anything else. There was nothing to do except question the why’s of this room, so that’s exactly what I did. I sat there, paced, and laid and questioned the whys. I came up with no answer. I came up with no answers; I had done nothing wrong to anyone lately. Well that’s not exactly true, for a while my friends and I had been making fun of Jason, a man we worked with. Nothing was really wrong with this man, he was just strange, stayed to himself in fact he never responded to any of our comments. I doubt that this was why I was stuck in this room, he couldn’t have the resources for this. He made the same amount of money as we did in the brick factory, Just 10 dollars an hour. Who then, who would do this? I could think of no one. My screams didn’t help, nor my punches, nor the bullets. I decided to try the bullets once more though, just in case. I shot them and I noticed one had made a dent, I guess it was bullet proof walls, if not the bullet would have went through; I shot nine of them and then turned the gun on myself. I heard the shot go off and expected to fall, however I was still sitting there with tears rolling down. The bullets were blanks, I guess there was one real bullet and I wasted it shooting at the wall. All that was left in the room was the empty gun, the empty tray where the bullets had been, the dim light, the rusty straight-edge, and the painting, “The Garden of Death.” Well the gun hadn’t worked it was on to the straight-edge. I built my courage thinking to myself, “it will only take two slices, one up each wrist.” “The rust won’t matter if you push hard enough.” With that I began I pushed the blade into my wrist and then I woke up. I woke up with more joy than I knew possible, that dream had changed my life. The depression I had once felt was gone because I knew how much worse it could get. I woke up where I had gone to sleep in my one room apartment laying face-first on my bed. I was going to change, I would apologize to Jason, and I would change my whole life for the better. I turned over with a grin on my face ready to get up and face the day. When I flipped over onto my back I saw Jason, standing over me with a pistol, smiling. I began to speak, “Jason, I’m so sor…” and then I heard the shot and felt my soul leaving my body. I guess the dream was a day late, I should’ve apologized yesterday when I had the chance. [comments] => 0 [counter] => 204 [topic] => 31 [informant] => nirvana12 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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