The deep
depths of snow filled the dome with snow. It was filling up fast. What is going
on? Black slowly approached the snow and caught it on fire. Soon everything was
on fire. The depths of Heather’s subconscious looked just like this. She was
happy here. This was her home. And it was.
Everything
had taken form, it molded into her house, she knew not of what was going on.
But her first thought was to run to her bed, and that is what she did. This was
strange. She is controlling her dream. Could she control other things in her
dream? She picked up a vase full of dead flowers and dropped it “Don’t break!”
It fell to the floor, clattering around spilling the flowers on the floor. The
noise echoed down the rustic looking hallway, with pictures hanging on its
sides. She noticed something bazaar about the images that the frames closed in…
…Taking a
step toward them, in one she could see a man pulling her up a cliff, into a
white room. She looked to the image opposite. It was crooked, shaking actually.
It held and image of her running away from the missile strike. Pieces of rubble
flying everywhere, missiles raining from the sky, as far as she could see.
Everything was being destroyed. A security van outside exploded right next to
her, she didn't seem to feel the pressure of the explosion, in fact she seemed
protected from it. The house was leveled behind her; there is no way that
anyone came out of this alive. When the tremor hit, she watched herself fall to
her knees. She couldn't help. The yellow school bus was flying toward Heather
at an alarming speed. She knew what was about to happen. Heather reached her
hands out and the bus lifted up.
A Helicopter
she hadn't noticed flew over her head, It opened up, a man showed his face, He
had a dark complexion, he was strong. He pulled out a rifle of some sort, got
heather in his cross hairs, and fired. She watched as they flew away. She
watched Heather’s eyes roll to the back of her head. Heather was fighting this,
and making it worse. Her eyes closed at that moment. She lay there. The bus
fell sideways to a horrifying stop.
She was
startled back into reality with the sound of the door behind her opening. The
light was shining. She only saw the shape of a female walking into the house.
Wind blew from behind, as the door was forced shut. Leaves were rustling around
the foyer. She was looking at the shoes of the woman in front of her. She wore
Black converse with white laces, green corduroy skinny pants, and a white
t-shirt. This woman had a nice sense of style.
It took her
a moment. The face of the woman was familiar. She had darker toned skin, with
longer face, a nose piercing, and a smaller sized pointy nose. What made her
realize what she was looking at was the brown, wavy hair. She was looking at
herself.
She asked
the obvious question, “Where did you come from?” She didn't want to sound
stupid.
Heather replied
with exactly what she thought she would say “Hanging out, you know.”
“I really
have no clue actually. I was just watching me, or you, or whoever it was, in a
memory of mine. As though it was a movie! That’s not normal” She wondered if
wherever she was sleeping, if she was sleep talking.
The other
heather walked over to the kitchen, and opened the cupboard, “Why is the tea
always gone?” She was disappointed with this, well, they both were.
“I need some
coffee, or something to get me thinking.” She walked over to the coffee maker,
conveniently already brewed fresh coffee. “Would you like some?”
The other
Heather nodded, “Yes please, with cream, no sugar.”
“I know how
you like it.” She said, smiling. She kind of liked this whole idea. She looked
out the window, there was a field covered in tall grass, all leading up to a
dead, tree. There was someone next to
it, a man, in a black tux, bow-tie, and a mask?
“Heather,
hand me the camera, please.” She said this with urgency. She wasn't sure about
this.
The camera
was in her hands, in no time. She zoomed in on the character, who seemed to be
getting closer to the window, seemed to know she was there. She focused on the
mask, the white mask. And diagonally painted in red was the word “Fear.” It was
working. The masked, man seemed to be moving toward the window at a slow pace,
but he wasn't moving his legs. He was gently moving over the ground, as though
hovering. This scared Heather, and Heather. They both panicked.
She felt a
pull, a tug, as though she was on the end of a rope, a dog collar. She started
to get dizzy beyond belief. Actually, everything that’s happened has made this
dizziness feel refreshing, a normal feeling. Everything started to fade out.
The other Heather was in a corner of the kitchen, sitting on the floor hugging
her knees. She was crying. Banging on the window is the last thing she could
take. Heather started screaming “GO AWAY! PLEASE!” She was sobbing. The sound
of shattered glass behind her was the sound that queued her.
She was
lying on the floor of a dark void of emptiness. There was nothing she could do
to assist Heather with the horrors from above, or down below. Where was she?
Where is she? Who is she, Heather? Who is Heather? She had so many questions,
and as far as she knows she is lying 50,000 feet above sea level, on a cliff in
Sweden. She knew so much about Heather, but she knew nothing about herself. She
needed questions answered now. And she didn't’t know who to trust. Not even
herself.
