Last night I had the strangest dream. In this dream I was sixteen once more, and life was full of the excitement that age contains. I found myself in my childhood room surrounded by close friends, all of whom embraced me warmly and made me feel so welcome I forgot I was dreaming. The drugs were flowing and smoke permeated all parts of the dream, leaving little to be exactly defined or fully described. I remember hues; vague colorations in that room which caught my attention – a dull red glow with all forms of shadows criss-crossing around my head as the smoke reflected and refracted. My friends were themselves though, and things were going well; we were preparing for a party – a commonplace ritual that I enveloped myself in.

Soft conversations held on cold tiles in the bathroom, on the floor or balanced precariously on the edge of the bathtub. The ventilation was terrible and soon I was almost unbearably stoned; questioning the likely position of this dream being reality perhaps...Alice could not have faced a stranger landscape.

It was late when we started to move; I could feel the urgency in the air as we piled into a car. I was designated driver, what a supremely bizarre choice, for in my opinion, one who dreams should never be placed in front of the wheel while on drugs. We were rather late though, and the thought of switching seats with one of my friends seemed too much effort. Everything was unbearably slow and incredibly heavy. I remember the clutch slipping several times and I remember dark, desolate lanes stretching as far as the eye could see. I remember streetlights mocking me as I sped faster and faster, somewhat paranoid, trying to avoid that soft lullaby ringing in my ear.

My friends (there were four of them; I remember clearly) started directing me as my hands started losing control, slipping and sliding off the steering wheel no matter how hard I concentrated; headlights swerving horrendously, barely in the right lane – this was a common theme I recognized and I almost awoke from this seemingly innocent, empty nightmare...

Yet this wasn’t the end; far from it – the party awaited. In the darkness a shape was forming; trees became recognizable and the telltale signs emerged. Cars parked in long rows stretching out into the emptiness; strange iridescent glows emanating from the other side of a high wall; the soft roar of electronic music fusing with the low hum of the engine and the cigarettes beings lit in the backseat. I parked and we disembarked, cigarettes in our hands; oozing casualness in our altered states of mind. I remember; I was somewhat happy then – at least the cliché nightmare of the endless highway was slowly dying away from my memory (try remembering something while dreaming; its hard).

The party was your usual affair of ambient lighting; dark corners and shadows racing between the makeshift bar and the smoky dance floor. People appeared and disappeared in a flurry of smiles, ‘his’ and, ‘hellos’ – some of the faces seemed familiar yet most of them slipped away leaving very little impression – once again, I forgot I was dreaming, the situation being so life-like.

We took our places on the rugs reserved for the guests. The cushions were a nice touch, despite their shimmering gold covers and their oblong shapes, making them hard to lean on. Everything was in place; I was fairly comfortable and relaxed, in my element as I started to take in the surroundings fully. I love a good party.

A few drinks, a smoke or two later and there I see, in the corner of my eye, a strange image beckoning me.

She is very old. Her skin looks paper thin and strangely plastic as it folds and wrinkles all over her body. Her eyes are like slits, beyond which I see a void, nothing else. She is dressed as a poor maidservant, her lumpy clothes suiting her lumpy body – it almost seems as if parts of her are in the wrong place, but this is a dream (I remember) so perhaps that isn’t so strange after all. What is strange is her silent stare piercing deep inside me, her crooked finger telling me to follow her. I had two options then. I felt them; and I chose to follow her, leaving the certainty of the party among friends, tracing a path around the arrays of food stuff, slipping through the dance floor, unseen, like a ghost in the clouds of smoke – she still beckons...

Past the silent couple which gropes at each other in a pretense of innocence; exploring fingers excited by their audience – the flowing crowd of silent voyeurs...

Past the rooms with closed doors. There is darkness here, as silent couples consummate their fetishes in a tangled heap of sweaty bodies; their stench seeps out from under the doors, making me gag...

Past the four familiar faces as they light up another joint in a hidden, forbidden circle. They see me passing and eye me warily, as if I were a stranger, and unwelcome – something has changed as I move onward...

Past the silent guards and waiting drivers who wink at me knowingly in their minds. Their gazes carefully judge me in the moonlight, weighing me out for who I am and what I’m doing out here all alone following the hag. Their attention is distracted by a pair of tight jeans and a spare nipple walking their way; I slip by with little effort...

Past the line of empty cups and bottles leading to the lone drunkard. The only one who made it this far, he clings to the wall as he throws up in the bushes that hide him...

And then, we are there.

Lines blur and gray areas crowd the rest of my memory. Time seemed to move at a phenomenal pace while I stood there; at the end of an alleyway leading nowhere. The soft red glow illuminated the hag as she winked at me and called me closer. I watched, petrified, in silence as she drags out a lonely little girl from a dark corner where she had been tied down and left. The girl’s penetrating gaze begs me to do something yet I remember clearly, standing still and watching...

The hag tore the little girl’s clothes off, grabbed her limbs and started working them, molding them, shaping the girl into a cylindrical shape. Silent screams and the begging, the pleading still haunts my mind at this waking moment. The little girl beseeched me to make the pain stop as she was meticulously worked; her body contorted; bones breaking under the as it fought to keep its original form.

What was I to do? I was disconnected; watching the scene from a few feet above my head. My body was no longer truly mine.

Blood flowed freely now, making the body more malleable. Churning turning and twisting, the girl’s body was shaped into a giant urn of flesh by experienced hands – and I? I stood still and watched in silence, my gaze held by the hollow sockets imploring me, begging for escape. She was beautiful once...

There my dear reader, the dream ended and I awoke bathed in sweat, screaming and screaming in terror at the vision that still haunts me. It has been three years now and the hollow eyes still follow me in my living nightmare.

She was beautiful once...

Reality is only as cruel as our dreams make it...