Thsi Isn't a Dream, It's a Nightmare

I tend to have bad dreams when I return home from a trip far away. This has happened numerous times. My most severe nightmare happened a few months ago, after I got home from my trip to France.

In the dream, my little sister died. I can’t remember what caused it, and I guess it doesn’t matter. Most of the dream was about how I felt after- the grief, loss, and a sadness unbeknownst to me before this dream. She was lying in a casket, the kind made for small children. Her face was decorated in a pound of pale white, mud-like make-up. Her mouth and eyes were sewn shut. Her hair was tucked behind her eyes, which made her seem even younger than she was. She smelled like staleness and perfume.

As I looked upon her body, my dream switched over to the memory of seeing my grandpa at his funeral. In life, they had never looked alike. They weren’t even related. But in death, the similarity was frightening.

When it switched back to my sister, I couldn’t help but think about how I would never again see her eyes light up at the sight of the sight of something pretty; would never again hear her loud, goofy laugh; would never again see her cry at the sight of a hurting animal. She would never see the world, would never kiss a boy, and would never grow old with me like we’d planned. My soul mate had died, and no one would ever fill that void.

When I finally woke up, it was because I could breathe. I’d been crying so hard, I was hyperventilating. I was coated in sweat and tears. My entire body was shaking. All I could think about, was that it may have been real. I ran upstairs, into my sister’s room. Some of the weight lifted from my chest, when I saw her sleeping in her bed. However, there was a lingering pain at the idea the she could have died, could be dead, or could die tomorrow.

These are the things I fear.