This can't be happening

V.3

My eyes snapped open, "It was just a dream! IT WAS JUST A DREAM!" I shouted as I sat up in my down feather comforter and royal blue satin sheets. I took a deep breath, taking in the ocean air and basking in a dawn so warm it stole the chill from the pale marble floor. I rushed to the dresser to examine myself in the mirror. I’m not OLD! I am in my late twenties with a sun kissed tan. My curly chestnut brown hair was a wreck from sleep. My eyes still a cold steel blue, just like in the dream. But that was the only similarity. Next I had to check my teeth, they were pristine and STRAIGHT! They were not deformed and stained yellow, jagged like some monster from a bad b rated movie. My nose is still perfect not crooked and covered with sunspots. There wasn't a forest trying to escape my nostrils! My lips are smooth and pale pink, not chapped and brown. I look down and admire my flawless skin and rippling abs, every muscle honed to perfection, nothing compared to jutting ribs and folds of skin that was in my dream. Even my feet are free of calluses and yellowed nails, pedicure perfection! It was all a dream. The park bench, the litter, the couples making cruel remarks, the cold, the bitterness, the loneliness, JUST A DREAM. I decided to walk away from the dresser, its black lacquer finish glowing in the rising sun, toward an oak door painted black as night with a gold knob. Very victorian, very me. I almost skip toward the door and plan to sing to my breakfast while I cook it. I feel like I haven't eaten in ages. I get to the door and a droplet of water hits my forehead. As I look up to see where the water came from, thunder peals through the room. Immediately I stare out the window thinking that there is a storm coming in and I need to close the windows. Funny thing, not a cloud in the sky. I look back up at the ceiling trying to see where fluid came from and a few more hit my face. There is no apparent leak from the ceiling. Odd. Another oddity, another peal of thunder fills the room and I became drenched as though I am sweating profusely, or like I have been caught at the beginning of a thunder storm. I race for the door, having had enough oddness for one morning and wanting to get to the bottom of the leak and noise that sounds so much like thunder. As I twist the door knob and pull the door open I scream. I'm looking out of the door but facing the sky, almost as if I am lying on my back. The air that is blowing in reeks of urine, feces, and stale smoke. The sky is dark with clouds boiling all across the horizon. I can vaguely make out people laughing and a wad of newspaper just flew across my doorway, missing the entrance way by about an inch. I stand in shock. The view from my door shifted and I could hear an obscure moan. I now see newspaper bunched up around a bench, an empty bottle with no label, and a bag of trash with various wrappers from what seemed to be the same fast food joint. The smell of rotted things came flying through the door. Vomit tries to escape from me but fails. I can hear a man dry heaving at the moment though. I slap my face as hard as I can, nope not dreaming. I think to myself, "this is WEIRD!" censoring my thoughts. The rain starts to come down now and isn't entering my bedroom door, the window behind me was still showing a warm sunny day. I, on the other hand, am standing in a puddle of cold water and am starting to head to shock. I close my eyes and start counting, 1, 2, 3, the marble floor feels less real and the panic starts to rise, 4, 5, 6, my back starts to hurt and feel sore and I am freezing, 7, 8, 9, My hands are clammy and the stench of vomit is ripe. 10, I open my eyes. The room is gone, everything is gone. I am lying on a bench in the middle of a rain storm. The dirty, foul hands from my nightmare are reaching up to shield my eyes. I start to take a breath to scream and no air comes. Tears fill my eyes. I sit up and see a couple walking by. A man looks at me with a fierce hate in his eyes. He screams from where they are walking, "stupid hobo, get a friggin job and quit ruining our parks!" At this particular moment I think grief turns itself into a knife and plunges deep into my old chest. I just want to die, thinking, "this isn't real, this can't be happening to me!" I reach down, for some reason remembering I have a broken rearview mirror under the bench. As I glance into the silver glass my heart stops. I realize it isn't a dream. Steel cold blue eyes are staring back at me with loathing. Pain fills the expression on the aged face. Then I collapse. My heart having had stops and I am not able to breathe. I died. It was a slow death I think. I have time to watch a group of people laugh at me as they walked by, right before the darkness eats my sight. All I can think at this moment, "this can't be happening to me!"

Reviews

[Blake Hutchison]

What I got out of it was the concept that for the character, life is the nightmare. Those who laugh at him as he dies may have to face this same fate some day. Particularly enjoyed the concept of "nightmare within a dream within a nightmare" going on here, and where the character has conflicting thoughts in the end, going from "I just want to die" to - when finally getting his wish, saying to himself "this can't be happening to me!" Possibly a warning to be careful what we wish for?

[Samuel Dickens]

A well-written piece, but that is not to say it couldn't benefit from a little editing--mostly for punctuation and tense. This shifting from one reality to another is effective in establishing the nightmare quality of the story. Good job, Dorian.