The Nightmare Forgone.

The beginning of monsoon season with the windy weather, oh my, I never thought it would all become the fault of just slight little words.

I thought so but then suddenly I woke up. I was mesmerized by the fact that it is still cold in January and I’m having a precognition of June. Oh my, I think I should write it down in the diary that I had just received, a day or two ago.

It was about 03:18 am, so should I write it down or not; mmm, Nah, I should just write in that diary about how I am having dreams about the monsoon when about half of January is still up there to freeze me in the morning.

In my initial thoughts, I thought, “I should be able to predict the future.”

Then suddenly chills ran through my body. Why am I overthinking? I have never been an overthinker to this point to write such a miscellaneous thing. Wait, do I even write such things, do I even maintain a diary then why am I bloody writing to the point where I ridicule myself for it? When I looked again at the diary it wasn’t even there, wait, what? How is that even possible! I haven’t moved an inch after setting down to write. But did I even move to get my diary? Whatever is happening right now, is making my hair curl. Why am I thinking so much? What’s the purpose of writing at 3:18 am!

Then suddenly I woke up!

Wait what, was I previously not woken up? It seems I was having dreams in my dreams. Dear, this is terrifying and the secret of my diary is never going to be shared, that’s what I thought.

But it was not the first time that I had woken up in the middle of the night. Well, people wake up in the middle of the night to either follow the urge to pee or whatever important activity they want to indulge in, but being awake to the point where you don’t want to lay off again to sleep sets the mood to fire. I mean my night is ruined and I don’t want to do anything at all.

But that being said I cannot afford to stay awake as I am already preoccupied with schedules. So I set forth towards the kitchen. It was not exactly 3:18 am as I dreamt of but it was 2:13 am.As I pondered my midnight snack, I asked myself, “What should I have?”. I went to the pantry to get biscuits, and ate some of them. My next step was to go straight to bed.

I did not foresee that with this unsettling thought I ventured again into the world of dreams. This time there is a difference, simply in between was that I have already got a hunch about the fact that I am dreaming, even though I am not able to get up. If it was lucid dreaming, then I would be able to get up this instant and have full control of what I would be. But that’s not happening here, I am being followed by someone, why, why, why? I don’t get it anyway but my heartbeat has dropped dead. Why am I getting terrified? Should I just write my final words in the diary that I have in my pocket?

What do I need to do? Why am I being stalked, what am I to do?

I wrote that down in my diary. I was scared and about to sprint again right after I caught my breath. I was surprised to see that coming even though I am well aware of the fact that it is an illusion created by my mind in the spiritual realm. My consciousness knows that I am dreaming, so what is this gloomy and terrific feeling around me?”

I added this to the diary.

“No matter how hard I tried, I could not see my stalkers. There was a huge shadow around the corner and suddenly a corridor appeared that connected to the alleyway. I ran towards that corridor and through the alleyway, I saw the open field.”

I added this to the dairy again, but now being in the open it was way beyond dangerous and there is nothing I can do to prevent the entity from which I was running.

“The blade of that entity was wielding its scythe and cutting down slowly and slowly as it approached me.”

I put that down in the diary and to my amazement I wasn’t even writing it with a pen, it was written with blood being ink and my finger being pen to it. That shadow figure, over 2 metres tall, dragging a scythe drenched in blood and might weigh over 1000 kilograms.

It forced that scythe into my body, I tried to shield it with that diary but what could a couple of glued pages do against it and with it being torn apart the sharp edge of that blade went through my chest and I started to blackout and then I woke up it was 6:27 am.

What I went through, in that entire night and the diary in which I wrote my demise and experience of being pierced through, how could I ever forget?

But being able to create pain and a terrific experience even in sleep, for that exact sensation without even suffering from it prior, can’t be explained.