Waking Nightmare

On some level, I know there's something weird. Maybe an odd shimmer, how everything gleams just a little too brightly.

My bed is gloriously comfortable. It's wonderful to wake, stretch, and wiggle. My cocoon. Safe. Warm. Smelling of mother's washing powder. I should have a showe-

-the water is hothothot. I luxuriate under it, steam billowing. The pressure is great. Nearly as good as that cosy duvet. Better, because I'm getting a massage across my neck and shoulders. Tension melts out of me. Ohhhhthatfeelsgoooooddddddd. I'm hungr-

-at the kitchen counter. Breakfast is a bowl of cereal, like I used to eat when I was a kid. The sugary kind that had a toy in the box. I know just how it'll crunch, how cold the milk will be. The fridge hums. I can't eat this. I'm not sure why, I can't rememb-

-walking down the street, housekeys cold in my hand, the click of the lock echoing in my ears. I walk faster. Loving the feel of denim and soft cotton on my skin. This shirt is yellow. It's a happy colour, like the sun that's taking turns with the summer breeze to kiss my arms. The smile aches on my face and-

-I've arrived at the park. There's the guy with his bicycle ice-cream stand, selling cold treats. Haven't had one of those in forever! A dog chasing a frisbee, sun glinting off the river, families enjoying th-

-driving, my hands at ten and two like my dad taught me. Shades slip down my nose, and I push them back up, and shift gears so that-

-it's getting dark. I shoulder my bag and stride with confidence towards the glittering doors. Push through into the palpable smell of popcorn, scan the lobby for my frien-

-the lights strobe, music thumps, bodies packed in tight. I squirm through the crowd, money gripped in my hand, try to catch the bartender's ey-

Clanggg

I open my eyes. The grim, grey reality crushes in. Walls, bars, locks, hard cot, toilet in the corner. I want to close my eyes, escape back into sleep. Taste freedom and happier memories. Sighing, I heave myself off my bunk into the nightmare.

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Word count, excluding note: 366

Submitted on Wednesday 13th June at 18.13

*Quick Author's Note*

First, and most importantly: thank you so much for reading my story! The ha'penny that Vocal will toss in my hat for your eyeballs landing on this humble piece will be well-spent.

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

The story behind the story: This one was inspired by a snippet of an interview I saw with (I believe) a member of Pussy Riot, regarding her time in Russian prison. Her dreams were always of normal things, in the outside world, and waking was the nightmare. I will re-work this for the 3am challenge.

A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one continues my 165 day streak since 1st January.

Please do consider lending your support to the other creators who are also on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They are putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Leave me a comment: I reciprocate as many as I can. Leaving a comment makes that easier.

Thank you!

Thank you again, most sincerely. Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed! 😁

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