PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I awake laying in a very dark room. I look for something that could verify where I was. I certainly wasn't in my bed, for the place where I partially lay was far too firm, too cold, and too elavated to be my mattress. I could feel that. I shift my legs under what I thought was a blanket, but now realize are ropes binding me to where I am. A sense of new panic rushes through me as well as new questions. Was I being held hostage? Why can't I remember how I got here? I search my thoughts for the slightest indication of where I was prior to my blackout, but nothing came. So I waited with a nervous mind in a silent dark room for many minutes.

Finally, lights flash on. They are very dim, but enough to make out what my surroundings are. The room was much smaller than I assumed it was, which made me feel suffocated.

I slowly look around the room. The walls are all mirrored, the floor is wooden, the ceiling is blankly white as if the white were missing something, but that isn't possible. I look in front of me. I sat in a chair you would see in a dentist's office, or a beauty salon. It had a foot pedal that could make the chair go foward or backward. Right now, I'm leaning further back giving the illusion I was lying down while I was in the dark.

I stare at my reflection. This soon became eerie, so I look to my right and saw Constance's gaze yet again. I realize what's going on. My heart fell.

Constance was smiling sweetly admiring my face. She strokes my cheek, then steps behind me. "May I do your hair?"

I don't answer. I never do anymore. I swallowed my words along with my spit.

She didn't wait for a verbal answer anyways. She stepped behind the chair and pushed it up to where I was fully sitting straight.

She began to stroke my long auburn hair. Her fingers slid slowly because they got tangled in my curls frequently.

A brush and flat iron appear out of thin air in Constance's hands, and she began to brush my hair with one hand, flatten it with the other. "You're hair is so gorgeous Marcella.....So thick."

I said nothing again. Silence was best for me at this point. My eyes stayed on her reflection in the mirror.

"Do you like to dream Marcella? You're surely artistic and creative enough to have some amazing ones I'm sure." She said so beautifully and peacefully with a tone of an angel though it chilled my spine.

I did not answer for the third time and I looked down to the floor and back up again. I felt her brushing slow down.

"I asked you a question Marcella. You're being very rude. I'll ask again: Do you like to dream?" Her voice became sharper, and the words sliced through my ears.

"Yes..." I whispered quietly. Tears came to my eyes as I met her gaze in the mirror.

"Well be careful Marcella...even the sweetest dreams can go bad. Yes, even the best dreams can hurt." She paused, and lifted the flat iron. "Watch out, your over analyzed thoughts and dreams might destroy you. In fact, they might just kill you." She brought the flat iron to my ear, clamping down as hard as she could.

I scream in agonizing pain and attempted to jerk awat, but her rope held me down. I saw her facial expression through my blurry eyes, it was blank, but you could feel her satisfactory radiating from her soul...if she has one.

I gasped as I awoke. I was back in MY bed in MY house. Though the dream was over, her words still echoed in my ear.

"Watch out, your thoughts and dreams just might kill you......"