Chapter Four
"Awaken"
Imagine your worst recurring nightmare. Now imagine dreaming that while on drugs. My worst nightmare
felt like reality. In this unconscious state, I felt immense discontent. I was
doing everything in my life that I had never wanted to do. This means some of
the most embarrassing, degrading things a human being can do to oneself. Some
examples are: living in the sewers while having prostitution for employment and
doing all of the really hard drugs, like methamphetamine, rage crack, heroin
and scopolamine, while also dating your pimp/drug dealer who is very abusive-
both mentally and physically. This situation causes unhappiness, paranoia, low
self-esteem, and thoughts of suicide.
Dreams like these
cause all sorts of pain and false pleasure. In these dreams I also always feel
like I have the Stockholm Syndrome. And there’s nothing you can do to change
this or stop this as this is your personal, true Hell. This recurring nightmare
was my true hell. And it always seemed so real. Sometimes I thought that when I
went to sleep and had this dream, I was really dead, seeing my future
after-life, or that I was living another life in my sleep. It always felt so
real.
I’ve had this dream
since I was 7 years old about... 50 times or so. This was a well-known
recurring nightmare to me. It always went the same way.
It starts out with
me standing on the same corner every time- on the corner of Smith Avenue and
Royall Lane. I’m wearing a skin tight, bright neon pink, pencil skirt, a black
halter top with ruffles towards the bottom, a black, strapless bra and a bright
neon pink and black g string, with black 3-inch wedges. Every, damn, time.
A car stops in
front of me. It’s always the same colored car too; a charcoal gray 2009 Dodge
Charger with dark tinted windows. The rims on this car are sick! When I walk
towards the car, the driver signals me to get in. I do as he says, though I
never see what he looks like. But, I always notice the interior of the car.
Black leather seats, the new car smell mixed with a slight hint of marijuana,
and it lights up blue and dark red where the speedometer and other gadgets are.
I can tell it has a nice speaker system because I can always feel the bass when
the music plays. I could never understand what kind of music was playing, but I
know it was music.
I never know what
comes over me; maybe I know this man too well or maybe he is a regular customer
of mine; either way I look into his glove compartment. I always find the same
small bag of some kind of white powder along with a small mirror, a razor and a
cut straw. As usual, I carefully pour out the contents of the bag onto the
mirror and begin to chop it up with the razor. Once finished, I use the straw
to snort the drugs.
As I do so, I see myself in the mirror. I am wearing heavy
makeup; lots of mascara, eye liner, bright neon pink lipstick, and a little bit
of blush. And, as always, right after
snorting my given poison, I feel the sting of a needle in my left arm. The
driver had stuck me with a needle full of heroin. And I black out.
When I wake up,
still in the dream mind you, I am in what looks like a warehouse. There are
great big piles of crates surrounding me, almost like a maze since I can never
see over them. I’m lying on the floor, still dressed although my clothes are
slightly askew. I get up and fix my clothes, and begin to walk through the
maze. After wandering around for a while and not finding a way out, my dream
skips and I am suddenly inside the sewers, where I live with my pimp.
I walk down the
sewers and pass a few people along the way. The thing about these “people” is
that not only do they not have faces but they seem to be mutated as well. For
example, I passed by a lady with no face, dressed in tattered peasant clothing,
and she waves to me. But when she does, her hands seem to have more than five
fingers on each. But when I do a double take, her hands are missing. I figure
it’s no big deal though since I don’t even know her. Another person I passed
was an old man dressed in nothing but a dirty loincloth. When I walk past him,
he has three white eyes, and again when I do a double take, his entire face is
missing. I’m not sure what this symbolizes, but it always happens, no matter
what.
So, I’m walking and
walking—
‘raaaqqueettt…”
-“….”-
I stop dead in my
tracks.
‘raccchhheeeeeeetttttteeeeee……’
This is no longer
the usual recurring nightmare..
-“…..Wh- who’s
there…?”-
It occurs to me…. ‘rrrraaaaccchhhheeeeeellll…….’ That
someone is saying my name…
‘rrrrraaaacccchhhheeeelll!!!!..’
“Rachel? Rachel!!
Oh my God…RACHEL!!!! OH MMY GODD!! RACHEL! PLEASE WAKE UP, PLEASE WAKE UP!!
WHAT’S WRONG? PLEASE, PLEASE PLEASE, RACHEL, WAKE UP!!”
[Jake finds Rachel
lying on the bathroom floor naked, having a seizure. In a panic, he calls for
help. Several minutes later, the ambulance arrives. Rachel is rushed to the
hospital. Once there, her stomach is pumped to remove the poison from her body.
She falls into a coma for 6 months.]
To be continued...
Sneak Peak of Chapter Five
Chapter Five
"Coma"
[This is where
things take a turn. This is where things get gruesome and ugly. This is where
all innocence is disturbingly removed from all possible thoughts. This is the horrifically
detailed description of what happened during the six months that Rachel was in
the hospital, in a drug-induced coma. This is the real story.]
