My eyes flash open. I'm surrounded in darkness. I bolt upright. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I take short gasps of air.
"Must have that dream," I told myself.
They'd been coming for two years. Everynight I'd awake with sweat all over my body and my heart pumping. It was the same dream. Every night for two whole years. Ever since you left. It was almost as if, having the nightmare was apart of some daily routine. It seemed pretty normal to me.
I began to slouch against the back of my bed, against the head board. Starting to brathe normally, my head swirls with drips of the dream.
I held your hand. A cross was placed in the palm, I held it there. You were laying on a bed, a white cun naturually clean bed. Machines filled your room, blinking and beeping. I couldn't help but think that the noises are going to wake you up. You needed to sleep, you needed your rest. In the back of my mind, I knew. I knew you weren't going t wake up. You'd been asleep for a week now, your chest rising and falling. All I could do was sit by yourside and hope; hope was what I held onto. Hope was all I had. But then, something changed in the air. As your body became cold, I still gripped your hand as tight as could; praying this won't be the end. Praying I won't lose you. Your chest rose, it fell. It rose, it fell. It rose, it fell. 4 seconds past, nothing. It never rose again. The long beep from one of he machines droned in my ears, it was so loud. Doctors and nurses all hurried into the room, the private room, the room that was meant to be for us.
They prodded him. They pulled at his skin. They placed cold objects onto him. Why were they doing this?! Why were they doing this to my Daddy?! They'll make him even colder! He'll freeze! Suddenly, arms were around my waist, pulling me, hauling onto the shoulder of my uncle.
I screamed "Put me down! I want to see my Daddy! He needs me!"
But nothing changed. I was still bing taken away from my Daddy. I punched, hard, into the back of this person. Tears streamed down my face. My vision blurred. I want my Daddy! He needs me! I want my Daddy back! Everything went black.
This is when the dream stops. But it wasn't exactly a dream. More of a memory. It was my memory, from when I was nine and that man, carrying me out of the room, that was my uncle protecting me from anything else I didn't have to see. But the question still haunts me today. As I lay awake that night and think. One question roams around my mind, branching off into lots of different questions. Why aren't you here? Why did you have to leave? Why then? Why aren't your arms around me telling me that it was all a bad dream, it will never happen, not ever. Why aren't you here Daddy?
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