The Stoned Corridor

The dream started when I was young, 6 to be precise. It would always start in complete darkness, with this odd chill, no matter what the weather was, I would wake up freezing cold. I would hear this blood curdling scream and then I would run, in the complete darkness. Until I reached a door, beautiful and magnificent as it was I would never look too closely at it, I felt this urgency, as if I was being chased, however couldn't see the chaser. I would throw open the door and continue running, I would never stop running. Once I opened the door a horribly bright light would shine, blinding me, and when I recovered (still running) I would be in a seemingly infinite hallway, which was curved, like a tunnel. The corridor would be made of this grey brick of various shapes and sizes, and was illuminated only by small, dim lights (set various lengths apart) which only added to the odd creepiness of it because I could spend what felt like an eternity in the dark at one particular time, only to be blinded by a light when unsuspecting.

Every time I had this dream I felt this odd urgency, as if I had to be somewhere, and yet could never figure out where I had to be. Almost as if I had to save someone, and yet at the same time, knew I couldn't. It always added a sense of urgency and dread of what I may see, or what I may come across.

Every time I visited this dream I would wake up before I could make sense of it. Before I woke up however this strange tone would echo off of the walls. The only way to describe to tone would be to say someone got the lowest pitch flute they could find, and played the song that they used for Lavender town from Pokémon Red and Blue (It wasn't the actual song, but if you want to know how creepy it was, this is as close as I can find as an alternative).

I hate this dream, and it has been there every single night of every single day of my life ever since I turned 6 years old. Non-changing, constantly on my mind. That is until the day I turned 14. This was the day that I finally accepted the dream as something that was there to stay, forever there, forever taunting me with its mystery's. With the dream came the questions. Who was it screaming? Could I save them? Should I save them? How did my mind create this horrible dream? Am I insane? Why do I have this dream? Does anyone else have this dream? What happens if I don't run? What happens if I stand and fight? What happens if I never wake up? These questions burned to be answered, I prayed for an answer. It never came. After this I started to go insane. The world changed into the dream. No longer were my waking hours my respite. This figment of my imagination, that disgusting, horrible, hellish stoned corridor had become my hell. My prison. My life. It had become what I saw. What I felt. What I knew. The chills from the corridor, I now felt constantly. People melded into the tiny lights that had now become so familiar. People when they spoke no longer made words. All I could hear was that horrible blood curding scream. Whenever I turned on the radio, all I heard was that song, looping forever. The dream had become my life.

I no longer ran in this world of mine. It became my addiction. I now saw everything in a new light. Enlightened.

Once my prison. Now my life. The song became a melody to be treasured. The scream now whispers of an angel. The brick once grey and boring became spectacular and perfect. I no longer feared the dark spots of the corridor, I longed for it. Once my prison. Now my life.

And then, everything changed. It can’t change. Why should it, it was already perfect……. Wasn’t it?

I started to see shadows on the now familiar hallowed walls of the corridor, a new addition to an already broken mind.

Green started to leak onto the bricks, vines curling over the bricks odd tendrils from this new world.

Red started to soak the grey brick that had once been horrid, but had now became something terrible. Something new.

The dream that had become my life had now become something new. Something that I had hated, I had come to love. I had now come to hate it once again. This imperfect change that had made everything new.

It was strange.

It was new.

It was unbearable.