Sister sister

Had a few short dreams involving my sister last night (no, there was no incest).

In all the dreams, I was in my old, childhood house.  In the first one, there was a typhoon or a tropical storm or something coming.  Rain was pelting down on the roof, coming in through the cracks of our crumbling house.  I ran upstairs to get my sister.  She was in the shower in her bedroom (there was no shower in her bedroom in real life), and I opened the door and shouted at her to hurry up and get downstairs.  Although I evaded my eyes so I didn’t look at her, I caught a glimpse of her in the shower and saw that she was wearing a yellow, rubber rain poncho, as the water cascaded from both the showerhead and the rain in the sky.

In the second dream, my sister was sitting on the green couch in our living room.  She was laughing, and her mouth was full of blood, and some teeth were missing.

The last dream was the most lucid.  I was yet again in the living room with my sister on the couch.  I walked over to her, and I felt like I had a scarf tied on tightly.  She gestured to my neck.  I pulled at my neck, and pried apart two pairs of hands on my neck, which had been wrapped around my neck (creepy!).  As I leaned down to her, one pair of the hands covered her nose and mouth, while the other covered mine.  Seeing how we’d both suffocate, I pulled the one hand covering her nose down to her mouth, freeing her nose.  Then, I moved the hand covering my mouth to my nose.  I strangely believed that we would somehow be able to have a functioning respiratory system since we both had a nose and a mouth free to breathe.  Without exchanging words this entire time, we tried to inhale and exhale, but it didn’t work, and we laughed a bit.

At this point, I realized I was dreaming and decided that this dream was getting to weird for me (this might have happened in the previous dream.  I can’t exactly recall).  I told myself to wake up and began slapping myself repeatedly while trying to run away from my sister, who I thought would get me or something.  However, as in all my dreams, I run as if running on molasses — super slowly.  So there I was, trying to get away from her while hitting my face.  At that point, I wondered if I was, in reality, slapping my own face in my bedroom, and thought that would be a funny sight.  As I turned around to see if my sister was going to chase me (she was just writhing on the couch), I jumped up off the porch of my house and into the air.

I woke up, not hitting myself (disappointingly), but in a hot sweat, evidence that I was having a bad dream.

Dark Fairytale

We were told one day to tell a scary story in one of my pitch classes at VFS but since I didn’t know any, I wrote a poem.

Dark Fairytale
Once upon a time

There was a girl with long blonde hair

Her looks were just to die for

And her beauty was oh so fair.

 

Up and down she walked the paths

At every waking day

With all her lovely joyful friends

She just loved to play.

 

And in the shadows came a figure

From the depths of dark

He swayed with every step he took

His face all riddled with marks.

 

“Come with me” he said to her,

As he offered out his hand.

“But who are you?” she politely asked

And he said “They call me the Triangle Man.”

 

And so they skipped, down the paths

Not once ever looking back

Until they stopped at a broken light

And frightful house of black

 

He led her in through the door

While she felt a little fear

But the Triangle Man calmed her down

“It’s just you and me here, my dear.”

 

She followed him up, up the stairs

Floorboards creaked with every step

He opened up a door for her

Saying, “This is where my pretties are kept.”

 

And when he opened that fateful door

She cried a terrible cry

For on the bed lay five little dolls

Girls who had been previously alive

 

The girl with long hair tried to move

But he made her want to play

A scream she tried but oh, despair

As he scooped her voice away

 

 

Her tongue he simply pinched it out

As he grabbed her life and her bones

He bent her pretty face in two

And her body became cold as stone.

 

With his long thin arms, he plunged his hand

Into her soft body with ease.

He licked the remnants of liver and lung

As he proceeded to pull out her knees.

 

A bucket was set aside

Containing a feast of her entrails

He tasted all her fingers

Till the blood ruptured through the nail

 

The long golden hair was all sliced away

Her scalp hanging off like a flap

And after that he took her spine

Chewed on it till it snapped.

 

A polka-dotted dress, a bow for her new hair

To her cheeks, a touch of red

And she finally took her rightful place

With the other dolls on the bed.

 

There was a girl with long blonde hair

But it doesn’t really matter

‘Cuz with the Triangle Man in the house of black

They all lived happily ever after.

Homeless

There is no title, no indication of when I wrote this, but judging by the inconsistent verb tenses and meh writing, probably in my creative writing group in high school.

Homeless

“Next,” I thought to myself as I put the lid back on the garbage can.  I casucally strolled over a few feet away and lifted the next lid.  The stench of seemed to be a combination of eggs, cigarettes, and diapers greeted my smell receptors.  However, I was immune to the stench now; there was nothing I hadn’t smelled before.

If I sound like some kind of hobo, you’re wrong.  I prefer the term homeless person, a person simply without a home.  It was about 3:3 in the morning and yes, I was going through people’s garbage.  Well, actually, I enjoyed spending time around this certain house so much that I would consider it to be my “neighbor’s” house.  So far, the only items of any value were a half eaten banana, a pair of socks with small holes and of course, cans for refund.

So anyhoo, I was going through my usual garbage when I spotted something sparkling in the moonlight – or rather, streetlight.  I carefully shoved aside the piles of garbage and suddenly stopped.

It was a butcher’s knife.  And not just any butcher’s knife; it was covered in a red liquid and had a faint odor of copper.  Could it be blood?  Maybe?  Could it be ketchup or tomato sauce?  Maybe, but why would anyone cut ketchup?

I told myself I didn’t see anything and just continued on with my routine.

Blood = money

Me: “Guess what?  I had a dream last night that I got shot in the back and it hurt sooooo much!”
My mom: “Was there any blood?”
Me:  “Uh… maybe?  I think so… but it hurt so much!”
My mom: “Good.  If there’s blood, then that means you’re going to get money sometime soon.”
Me: “Oh.  But what about me getting shot?  Doesn’t that mean something bad?”
My mom:  “Um… no, not really.”