Dead bodies, another dream of them, no rhyme or reason just the odd angular bends and that all too peaceful, coroner placed smile. My days were happiness and sunshine but the night brought a completely different set of emotions; chills and shivers, cold sweats and silent screams. These dreams were the worst, like an ominous warning that one must interpret before time was up. I could deal with the gory ones, at least then it was obvious what happened, but all this death without a feasible explanation was true atrociousness. I think it is the same way in real life, oh the sad silly irony, perhaps I should say in real death. When someone dies and there is an acceptable everyday cause, it is okay, sad but okay. When death is thrust upon us blindly, without any precursor or justification, it grants death its power and fear.
I poured my cup of coffee and jotted the flickering memories of the dream into my journal. There was not much to record, all those flaccid bodies floating about everywhere. Instead, I reiterated the emotions that had accompanied it; confusion, panic, an unexplainable sense of being lost. The dream journal was my psychiatrist’s idea, I never came to her about real life problems, it was the dreams that sent me for help. It is amazing the power our own minds have over us. They manufacture our dreams and do such a powerfully realistic job that even though we cannot remember the dream, the feelings that accompanied it are carried with us for hours and sometimes days later.
I had carried the dreams with me as a burden from as early as I could remember. So many nights I spent outside my parent’s bedroom door, not wanting to disturb them but not wanting to be alone. Tonight there were no parents on the other side of the door, tonight I would have to face the night alone, and tonight I would cower and result to insomnia, fighting until my body sent me back to my minds control. Though it left its mark on me, insomnia had become my friend, sheltering and protecting me as best it could. The dead dreams were my relentless, all powerful, undefeatable enemy. I could try as I might to prolong their onset but in the end, just like the grim reaper; they would have their way with me and overcome my body.

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“Write a short story, 500 words or less, that is creepy but not in the typical horror genre sense.”

I gave myself this particular assignment because I have always felt that my work is a little long winded. I add in phrases because they sound eloquent, but they do not contain any substance or reasoning. All my favorite authors have such seamless works, everything fits together perfectly and I want my writing to mimic that, especially when I write in a lengthier form. This exercise was far more difficult than I had anticipated.

I chose dreams as my medium for several different reasons, but namely because of the symbolic correlation between life and death and waking/sleep. Dreams occur in ones sleep but are more characteristic of waking life. It is as if they are a portal between the two, where one experiences both. Her dreams are her experiencing both life and death simultaneously. Dreams are also our minds tool for forcing us to see things and cope with them when we do not want to accept them.

The opening line is one of my personal favorites. It flowed so perfectly on to the page, almost effortlessly. It met all my requirements and contained such beautifully morbid imagery. The rhythmic flow of the pauses even mimics the slow breathing of one who is asleep. I originally had a comma after reason, but I removed it with the spell checker. I probably should have left it in to accentuate this.

The beginning of the next line is on the complete opposite end of the emotional scale. I wanted my readers to know from the beginning that she had not lived a tragic life. I also wanted to strengthen the symbolic similarities between death and sleep. She has happy days (life) and fears sleep (death.) Then the end of the sentence coasts the reader back into that chill inducing mindset. I wanted the reader to recall that panicky feeling upon waking from a terrifying nightmare.

I really regret adding in “like an ominous warning that one must interpret before time was up.” I put it in because it sounded good and she felt it but it made the readers think that they were a warning, and they are not. It should read, “These dreams were the worst, I could deal with the gory ones, at least then it was obvious what happened, but all this death without a feasible explanation was true atrociousness.” From that line to the end of the paragraph, her realizations on death, is partly what her dreams are trying to teach her.

Some may argue that “I think it is the same way in real life, oh the sad silly irony, perhaps I should say in real death.” was probably written in bad taste, but this is my sarcastic and twisted sense of humor shining through. The preceding and following sentences are so serious that I thought it needed a tension breaker to lighten the mood.

The next paragraph we get to know her, but one will notice she has no name, no personality, and no description. This is because I wanted the reader to use their own imagination; I wanted them to create who she was to them. She could be anyone, any age and fit into any clique.

I put in the part about the dream journal because it was necessary for her to touch on the subject of forgetting dreams and their lasting impression. The emotions are important because I wanted to use a set of emotions that could parallel the emotions one feels when they loose some one close, and also I wanted to pay tribute to our minds own power. As an author, I know how difficult it is to evoke emotions from ones audience. Our minds can do it subconsciously night after night with more efficiency than most authors could dream of. I am almost envious of my own mind and the abilities it has that I am not able to tap into, and I was hoping it would show through.

The last paragraph is where the fiction stops. I was that little girl, I suffered from horrid night terrors on a regular basis and still have them every once and a while. I understand her bound with insomnia all too well. Every piece has a bit of authenticity in it and this is where mine is.

My closing statement was chosen again to show the sleep/ death relationship. Earlier I mentioned her begin to realize what her dreams where showing her, this is her coming to terms with death and admitting defeat. “The dead dreams were my relentless, all powerful, undefeatable enemy. I could try as I might to prolong their onset but in the end, just like the grim reaper; they would have their way with me and overcome my body.” She is supposed to be showing a sense of reverence, fear even respect for the dreams/death.



Overall I gave myself a B. There is definitely room for improvement and I trimmed things that I should have left in and left in things I shouldn’t. It was a good first attempt though.

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