Other people's dreams
Matt won't let me watch the special he did with the BBC. I mean, he's not strictly speaking able to do anything to stop me. But I promised him, so I won't watch it. He didn't say anythin about not reading the online transcripts. I know, it's not exactly keeping my promise, but I really haven't seen it and I've avoided all the bits in London. I know that's the part he's the most worried about anyway. The aftermath. I only read through the bits that happened in Sri Lanka.
One morning there, they're interviewing him in the hotel because he said he's not ready to go to the beach. His room had a private veranda and he dozed off out there the day before. And... he describes a dream that means something far different to me than it does to him.
It happens every time I fall asleep near the ocean. If... if I'm close enough to hear it, that is. Like... when I first moved to LA I slept on the beach a lot. I had a flat but they all got high and I didn't want to be the one guy not using, y'know? I didn't want those questions. I'd wander about at night but sleep during the day, though- someone asleep on the beach in the day is a fun loving beachgoer, not a scrawny recovering addict hiding from the party. To the dream... it's... my point for mentioning it being during the day is that it was hot. But in the dream... I was still on the beach. All I can see is this fog rolling off the ocean. No one else seems bothered by it coming in, and then everyone is gone, but I can still hear voices. Very... very faint at first. Then the fog rolls in and starts passing through me and it's bone chilling. I get gooseflesh on my arms it's so f*cking cold. And the voices are louder. They're around me, and I hear that they're crying out for help. Pleading with God to spare their souls. And then there's a denser patch, one I can't see through. All the sound starts... wobbling. Tone drawn out, slowed down, and funneled away from my ears. I'm forced to stare at this ominous dense fog. Now, this is still over the water, it's not close to me at all but it still feels zoomed in, like it's right there. And I see fingertips poking through, and I hear my name. Over and over, voice getting louder and louder as more and more of the hand becomes visible. It only ever gets to the elbow, I never see his face but I don't have to. The sound of his voice screaming out for me always wakes me up. And before you ask only twice has it ever actually been someone calling my name trying to wake me up. I'd always be cold for a few moments after I woke up, sometimes I'd even be convinced I saw my breath. It was easier to shake off in LA for some reason. Last night... last night I reached out and almost had his hand. I could feel fingertips touching mine.
They comment on how often he rubs his arms and I can see him, only as my little brother, my 9 year old brother. Nightmares would always give him the chills. He'd never want to talk about them if Dad was awake, but you could always tell when he was getting over one. His nightmare was his dead brother coming back... wanting to drag him back into the water. Into oblivion. And yeah, that's bloody terrifying. But I read this and I'm in that fog, desperate to have someone drag me out, pull me through, from wherever plane of existence I was in to the one I'd been taken from. Part of me wonders what would've happened if he took my hand? It's ridiculous I know, the day I washed up Matt wasn't dreaming on the beach. At least, not that he's mentioned. Regardless he wasn't sleeping on Bathurst Island even if he had been sleeping.
But I still wonder. Was I just waiting for someone to pull me through the fog?
One morning there, they're interviewing him in the hotel because he said he's not ready to go to the beach. His room had a private veranda and he dozed off out there the day before. And... he describes a dream that means something far different to me than it does to him.
It happens every time I fall asleep near the ocean. If... if I'm close enough to hear it, that is. Like... when I first moved to LA I slept on the beach a lot. I had a flat but they all got high and I didn't want to be the one guy not using, y'know? I didn't want those questions. I'd wander about at night but sleep during the day, though- someone asleep on the beach in the day is a fun loving beachgoer, not a scrawny recovering addict hiding from the party. To the dream... it's... my point for mentioning it being during the day is that it was hot. But in the dream... I was still on the beach. All I can see is this fog rolling off the ocean. No one else seems bothered by it coming in, and then everyone is gone, but I can still hear voices. Very... very faint at first. Then the fog rolls in and starts passing through me and it's bone chilling. I get gooseflesh on my arms it's so f*cking cold. And the voices are louder. They're around me, and I hear that they're crying out for help. Pleading with God to spare their souls. And then there's a denser patch, one I can't see through. All the sound starts... wobbling. Tone drawn out, slowed down, and funneled away from my ears. I'm forced to stare at this ominous dense fog. Now, this is still over the water, it's not close to me at all but it still feels zoomed in, like it's right there. And I see fingertips poking through, and I hear my name. Over and over, voice getting louder and louder as more and more of the hand becomes visible. It only ever gets to the elbow, I never see his face but I don't have to. The sound of his voice screaming out for me always wakes me up. And before you ask only twice has it ever actually been someone calling my name trying to wake me up. I'd always be cold for a few moments after I woke up, sometimes I'd even be convinced I saw my breath. It was easier to shake off in LA for some reason. Last night... last night I reached out and almost had his hand. I could feel fingertips touching mine.
They comment on how often he rubs his arms and I can see him, only as my little brother, my 9 year old brother. Nightmares would always give him the chills. He'd never want to talk about them if Dad was awake, but you could always tell when he was getting over one. His nightmare was his dead brother coming back... wanting to drag him back into the water. Into oblivion. And yeah, that's bloody terrifying. But I read this and I'm in that fog, desperate to have someone drag me out, pull me through, from wherever plane of existence I was in to the one I'd been taken from. Part of me wonders what would've happened if he took my hand? It's ridiculous I know, the day I washed up Matt wasn't dreaming on the beach. At least, not that he's mentioned. Regardless he wasn't sleeping on Bathurst Island even if he had been sleeping.
But I still wonder. Was I just waiting for someone to pull me through the fog?