Blood and Glass

Their voices carried my mind away.

Discussing ailments of the body, of the mind. Physiologic disorders and of possible diagnosis.

I slept a sleep of an ugly mind and tired body. Underneath the inactivity of conscious, my subconscious raged and ravaged the land of my conscious mind.

My conscious used to be the master of my world. Strong, prolific and structured. I remember the days when I slept well.

I remember those days when my consciousness did not need to be stolen from me. It waned voluntarily, not afraid to let the night shift take over...

The room was beautifully lit. Chandeliers full of flickering flames hung from the ceiling, hung with thousands of pieces of glass, in every imaginable shape. The mahogany table was littered with the remains of paints and crayons. Scribbled on pieces of paper lain strewn about the table and the floor.

The ceilings of the room were not ceilings at all, but storm clouds flowing and swirling above my head. The candles immediately were extinguished with a gust of wind. And suddenly the room was chaotic, violent. The papers swirled and flew, brushing against my face and body.

The papers all had the same thing, written hundreds of times on them. In as many formats imaginable, there was my name. My name swirled around me. My hair flew back and forth within the wind. The glass of the now suspended chandeliers chattered and spoke to me in the language of glass.

The moment was oddly calming, standing in the stormy room. The wind began to whip wildly and pushed me to my knees. The chandelier's glass started to shatter. Bit my bit the fragments of glass pierced my face and body. Like a symphony of raindrops, directed by the wind.

I started to scream. Started to pierce the violent wordlessness of the wind with my voice. With each passing second my blood, arteries, body filled with glass. My eyes shimmered with blood and glass.

I saw myself standing there, in agony and confusion. Bloody and alone.

The wind was gone now.

My screams echoed within the high ceilings of the room. The chandeliers hung complacently, completely at rest. Their glass pieces now missing, candles extinguished. Only their bare metal frames remained. Mockingly as I fell to the floor.

Dying, dead. Gone.

They had survived and I had not.

"WAKE UP!"

My eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. Her green eyes looked into mine, uneasily. I searched for boundaries, completing my sanity self check, I replied.

"What is it, Monkey Face?"

"You were screaming again, James. It was scary. I couldn't wake you up. Are you okay? What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't remember, my love. I'm sorry."

She seemed to search my face for truth, but found none.

"It's okay. Just try and get some sleep, okay?"

"I love you." I whispered as I kissed her forehead.

"I love you, too." She replied and smiled.

And off I drifted again.