Have you ever written in a dream journal? I have not. But recently thought I may give it a try. I often have nightmares where the fear feels so real, sometimes like, and sometimes unlike the fears in real life, like watching a ship capsize or having a confrontation with genetically altered centipedes (wait, didn’t that happen in one of the ‘Star Wars’ episodes?).
Here is my weird nightmare from last night that made me feel like I was in the middle of an awful scifi novel:
He ripped the eye socket piece from my face, removed his own, and replaced it with mine. I could feel the stares of everyone around me, and hear their whispered gasps. I must have been a horrible sight to take in. I imagined what they must be looking at. Something I only saw in a mirror once on a dare in middle school. Air gushed in and I wondered what the dead flesh looked like now, two decades latter. I felt the cold breeze rush through the spaces in my face, then covered the open areas with my hands, splitting my fingers far enough apart only to see the man scoff at his own reflection with my artificial piece in place of his. He removed it and put his own back on.
He swatted my hands away from what they covered and shoved my piece back in, not at all being mindful to align the clasps properly. My face stung at its facets as I jiggled my features around, smoothing the pink and peach putty until it overlapped my cheek bumps and felt normal. The burn would take all day to go away. That much I remembered from when I was 12.
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