Dreams

ignore this, I posted it for a friend to read for me. :)

            I think I’m standing on a roof. I can see the crackled cement floors just under my feet that hold me up, and I can see the bits of brick just beyond my line of vision, but beyond that, I see nothing. Everything beyond those bits of brick fades from a dull grey into a bright white that hurts my eyes the farther I look outward. I stare down at the ground to ease the hurt in my eyes, avoiding the bright light.

            Suddenly there is a pain in the soles of my feet, a burning pain as if I scraped the skin on the hard ground. It’s as if I fell somewhere close to here, but I have no memory of this pain, and as I examine the bottoms of both my feet and their open, scraped wounds, I try to recall how I even got here at all. The more I think of these unanswered questions, the more I realize I don’t know. I am confused.

            I walk towards the edge of the rooftop, hoping to find something to clue me in to anything here. I take one step, and I can here the crackling of the gravel my feet hit as if right by my ears, and I cringe at the sound. I take another step anyways and notice the brightness of the white light in front of me is slightly dimmer, dimmer so I am able to look ahead of me instead of at the ground. I still see nothing, just white.

            I am at the edge of the rooftop, as when I look down I am relieved to see a city. I don’t recognize anything or anyone, but I can see the people below me going on with their regular, daily lives as if I weren’t here at all. I can see a woman with a baby carriage crossing the street, and a homeless man sprawled across some apartment steps, and even a man in a suit rushing down the side walk as if late for work or something. I take a step back.

            “Ok, I’m on a roof,” I think to myself, “but why am I here? How did I get here at all?” My voice echoes not in my head, but around the air I stand in and I jump on my feet, slightly surprised that I felt my voice that intensely.  

            “You’re an idiot,” I here another voice say behind me. The voice sounded very similar to mine, though I don’t recall ever thinking this, so it couldn’t have been my own thoughts. When I turn around to face the stranger, I’m surprised to find myself.

            I don’t respond at first. Instead, I find surprised with my mouth gaping slightly open, as I study my own appearance. I find myself also glancing from the figure in front of me to my own body, and find some noticeable differences. My hair is up in a bun like it usually is every day, and I wear what I usually wear around the house, black yoga pants stretched to my ankles, and a sweat shirt I bought from goodwill that is three sizes to big for my tiny, frail body. The figure standing before me has my hair straightened and French braided down the back of the head, and wears a turquoise dress tightens just under the breasts, and flows outward, ending just above the knees. Her feet are wrapped up in some strappy sandals as well.

            “What?” I feel a fear in my chest that aches, helping me to realize this is all really happening. It’s real, has to be.

            “You. Are. An. Idiot.” She repeats to me, stepping closer and arms crossed over her chest.

            “I’m not an idiot,” I copy her with my arms as well, taking a stand towards myself.

            “Yeah, tell yourself that,” she says.

            “Well, I think I am now.” I reply, “What do you want from me? I am actually happy now.” There is something else that separates this figure f of myself from my actual self, but part of me can’t seem to find what that difference is. I examine her physicality. Her arms may be crossed, but her back seems as straight as possible, and her right eyebrow is slightly raised giving off the impression that she is somehow superior to me. Our eyes meet, and when she doesn’t turn away, I find it hard to do just that. I can feel her eyes grabbing at the center of my soul.

            She glances away from me, slightly to the left and towards the ground, so I glance to where she looks and I find something. Walking to my left, I notice the ground covered in chunks of broken mirror shards, and as I walk towards them, I find myself just stare at them all. I am staring at the reflection of myself and I can feel her standing behind me, staring down at this reflection of myself.

            “Look at that.” She says, midst me staring into my own eyes. As I look, I see and feel nothing. I feel numb, and glancing at myself, I see that this state of numbness has taken a toll on my appearance. How have I not noticed this numbness before? I can see it mostly in my eyes, by the way I look at myself. The green that surrounds my pupils is a dark, deep forest green, but I don’t see beauty in this color, rather than darkness surrounding my green eyes. The darkness eats away at my face. My skin looks dried out, and my hair looks as if I haven’t washed it in weeks.