Drowning on Air

Drowning on Air

Dreaming again. I hate them so much, sometimes I wish I could just…

Just what? The reason I’m the way I am is because I’ve already died once before. Now those dreams won’t go away. It’s like something is calling me back to that place. I’ve never known loneliness like that place.

Sitting on a slab on concrete connected to God only knows, stuck in the center of the sea. I’m afraid to look behind me, but only for the fear that there will be nothing there—just an endless void waiting to suck me in. There is no sound, actually there is a lack of sound which hurts my ears something awful; but, it’s odd because the waters are splashing against the sides of the concrete.

But it’s not only the sound that’s missing. Parts of me are missing. I cannot think of who I am or where I came from. I only know that my mother put me in this place and I’m supposed to stay. I’m not able to feel any emotion but sorrow. Not even anger at being abandoned. Only sadness that I am alone.

I can sit in that spot for what seems like hours, trying in vain to remember who I am and where I’m supposed to be, but eventually the combination of boredom and curiosity gets the better of me. I begin to wonder what exactly is over the edge of my safe little stony home. That’s when things start spiraling down.

Looking down I see no reflection of myself, no reflection of anything, just an empty void. And suddenly a wave of emotions hits me like I can never remember feeling before—this feeling of belonging of someone wanting me to be with them. Its so strong I don’t have time to think, I just stretch my hand out and touch the rippling waves with my fingers.

The moment my fingers touch, a hand stretches out of the water and grabs my wrist. The long gray fingers crack as they tighten their grip. I try to pull back, screaming for help, but of course there is no sound so nothing can be heard. Even if there could be sound, who would be there to hear me?

The feeling of belonging is getting stronger, that feeling of home seeming to flow from the wicked hand through my veins. It promises happiness and family, something I’ve only ever heard of but never actually had. As it continues promising, it gives a sharp pull and I’m dragged face first into the water below. Once more I’m screaming, feeling the water fill up my lungs as I do so. More hands grab at me, covering almost all of my face and body. Through one eye I watch the light from above grow smaller and smaller until it’s gone.

It doesn’t sound too bad does it? No, but I suppose the truly terrifying dreams never do. You tell them to other people and they try not to laugh or look at your like your crazy. That’s how I met Jacob. He didn’t laugh at me—well he really didn’t do much of anything when I told him. He only nodded in that understanding way. It was as if we were victims of some unspeakable crime and could sympathize with the other without actually talking about what we had experienced.

I had been sitting in the waiting room for what seemed like forever.