My first memory is a long, connected series of dreams- so intense that they most likely wiped out all of the memories beforehand. I was 3 years old.Well, it starts off in a field in front of a large brick house. I am led to believe that my grandmother lives there, yet I cannot be sure because from the outside, this house looks as if it is on the shore of a teeming ocean of horror- not standard horror- but horror that for me has come in the form of textures and slow noises ever since this dream.
Inside this house, my mom and my little brother (and me of course) are led into a large white auditorium which, instead of seats, houses small, faceless ice-cherubs playing with small white balls. At the very end is a large white bed with a polar bear skin on it, and we stay there at th head of the room for awhile, just staring at them.
I am then walking down the front stairs of this house, and the walls are covered with some sort of red, gilded ‘design’. To my right is a large glass case built into the wall, with lion figurines in it. There is a volcano, and I press a red button to make it spout on the lions. It is mirrored; reflected. The lions appear to be covered in lava millions of times over. They melt.
Across the hall is a place I know about immediately, yet both dread and look forward to entering- it’s a secret room with no door that only I can go through- in it is nothing but a small table with my Aunt Connie seated at it, and rows and rows of large, talking rubber plants. My aunt appears very lonely, and I feel as if I could sit at that table with her, but I can’t. There is one chair, and while I feel somewhat capable in this room, the rubber plants scare me. I leave this room knowing i have been irrecoverably changed; in essence, a microcosm of the entire dream. Continue reading ‘My first memory is a long, connected series of dreams’
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