by rem sleep » Mon Jun 22, 2020 5:45 am
username; rem sleep
name; kaia - meaning both "pure" and "sea"
what is she leaving lost in the fog?;
her memories of her passing into the afterlife
the fact that she is was dead.
[ 2000 / 2000 ]
by rem sleep » Mon Jun 22, 2020 6:38 am
I am writing this note to record the bizarre happenings at this lighthouse I found myself in some time ago. How much time, I am not sure… my mind is in a fog, lulling and monotonous, which I now feel the need to break out of. There must be some reason I am here, some reason I feel out of place in a location that is supposed to be my home. Why can I not see the faces in the pictures? Why can I not remember anything before coming here? These are questions that I want the answers to, and before this desire again slips from my mind and into the fog, I will capture it in these pages. This letter will be the rope I use to climb my way out of this abyss. I will find the answers.
I should probably start at the beginning, with my first memories… They are also fading, so I should record them before they disappear forever.
My first memory is of opening my eyes on the balcony of this lighthouse, the first sight that met my eyes was the fog which surrounded the tower, and then, the cool ocean waves.
All around me was water, swaying waves which crashed into the lighthouse’s base, splashing at the dock attached to it whose end was not in sight. The fog isolated the small lighthouse, creating an abode in which only it and it's portion of sea resided. I rubbed my eyes. I couldn’t recall where I should’ve been, but I was bothered by the strangest sensation that my being here was, in some way, very, very wrong. Uncertainly, I moved my feet, surprised to see the motion was as fluid as water, when I had no memories of ever having walked before. I turned to the lighthouse door and entered the tower for the first time.
The glass room bore only the large lamp at its center, the light which moved without my touching it. It was new to my eyes, surprising and surreal. I felt, looking at it, like I was in the midst of a strange dream. Surely, I had never seen the inside of a lighthouse before. I explored the area with careful hands, not wishing to disturb whatever mechanism was keeping the lighthouse operational for fear of what would happen to the ships that relied upon it if the light were to break, leaving only my inexperienced self to direct them to safety.
I felt as though I could not even direct myself, I knew I could not aid anyone else. The thought of the responsibility made me shudder, so I shoved it to the back of my mind. I found a hatch in the floor and opened it to descend on the ladder below to another room.
This one had walls instead of glass panes, walls which were painted a soft sky blue. There was a large bed with plump white pillows and an inviting faux fur blanket draped upon it, a dresser sat beside the bed, decorated with knick-knacks, small figurines of ocean wildlife, a pseudo-fish tank with electronic fish swimming in mechanical circles and a few framed photographs. The walls, too, were covered in a mixture of photographs and paintings; paintings of the sea’s depths, of sunsets over the ocean, of beautiful, dangerous sea creatures. The photographs, though, I could not see. They looked blank to me, no matter how closely I held them to my face- I only had a peculiar feeling that they were pictures in the frames which to me appeared to be only vacant white paper.
I looked in the dresser drawers, finding clothes which stood out to me as the first familiar thing I had happened upon. They were garments of white, teal and silver, all clothes that I recognized as belonging to myself.
Long, flowing dresses and skirts which cascaded like waterfalls, lacey white blouses, and some simpler garments filled the drawers. I took them out, lying them on the bed, and looked at them, scanning them intently, as if they might help me to find the clues I was seeking. Even then, I was suspicious of something going on behind the scenes, even when the "illusion" was at its most believable, when I had not yet had any glimpses into another world through my dreams that might call the "illusion" into question. I still felt that something was amiss, and that feeling lingered with me as I proceeded on. Thought, whenever the thought that something was wrong came into focus, it left again, never coming fully into my mind’s eye, only dancing at the edge of my peripheral vision. It has taken me this long to finally capture it, if only for a second. I must write quickly... before I lose it.
I explored the lighthouse that day, and in sum I found beneath the bedroom was another chamber which housed a small kitchenette, a workspace for someone I assumed was a seamstress, based upon the mannequins and sewing supplies which looked a bit familiar to me, the mannequin’s garments much like the garments I’d found in my own drawers upstairs. I couldn’t recall who had been making them. I was haunted by the idea that there was someone else living in the lighthouse, that I was intruding upon a space that wasn't mine.
None of this looked like my home, but… when thinking of home, I could pull nothing into focus either. It hid from me, in the fog of my mind, and I found myself at a loss. I relented in my search, climbing into the bed, nestling into the blankets and closing my weary eyes. For a moment, I remember I saw only red on the backs of my eyelids, I felt as though I heard something far away, a person calling to me, screaming, their voice was distant but urgent, pleading. Then it faded away, as I fell into sleeps’ embrace, and had my first dream in this strange place.
In my dream, I was on the lighthouse balcony, leaning against the handrail which bordered it, unable to take my eyes away from the cascading sea. The sound of the waves drowned out my thoughts, leaving only me, and the ocean.
And the fog.
The fog drew in everything around me, slowly at first, so subtly moving that I hadn’t noticed until it had blotted out the entire sea, muffling the calming blue and the sound of the waves, isolating me on the balcony. I couldn’t move. The fog fluttered around my ears, stung at my eyes, entered my lungs. I coughed but couldn’t produce any sound, because it was being absorbed by the fog, like everything else.
I woke up the next day, shaken, breathing hard. I remained frozen in the dark for what felt like forever. I realized that it was a dream, but that didn’t stop my ears from ringing, my chest from aching, my head from throbbing. I tried to brush it off. To move on. And over time, it almost faded away entirely from my mind. The troubling vision of the fog, I convinced myself, was nothing more than a bad dream.
That is, until I dreamed of him for the first time.
When I woke in the dream, I was in a bed that smelled of lavender. It was huge, and I found myself expecting someone lying on the other side beside me, only to find it peculiarly vacant. I sat up too quickly and doubled over, holding my head which throbbed and ached.
“Darling, you’re awake!” Came a voice, warm like honey, and soon a man came into view. He knelt by my bedside, offering a warm smile, “Lie back down dear, there’s no need to push yourself when you’re already feeling unwell.”
“Unwell…?” I whispered uncertainly, my voice sounding odd to me even though I knew it was my own. It sounded far away. “Am I unwell…?”
“Oh, dear…” The man sighed, taking my hand in his, “Kaia, yes… Don’t you recall? You’ve been having memory troubles… That’s why you’re here in bed right now honey, and not at work. You know, your colleagues miss you dearly. Without your brilliant mind, the marine studies are dragging on much longer than first expected. They told me to pass along that you’re in their prayers.”
“I’m not remembering…?” My voice parroted his. I didn’t feel as though I was having memory issues. I felt as though I was dreaming, this man only a figment of my imagination. And yet… the love I felt from him was too real to be an illusion. I didn’t remember anything but thinking about it hurt and I slumped back down into the bed, defeated, clutching my head. His hand slipped out of mine.
The man’s expression softened as I coiled in on myself, his kind smile fading into concern, a sort of pity hid behind his eyes and I felt as though he didn’t want me to see it behind his warm exterior.
“Darling… why don’t you stay in bed? I’ll turn off the lights, get some of the lavender candles you like, and start on breakfast. How does that sound? I’ll make your favorite waffles.”
I couldn’t see him, but I felt the tremor in his voice, the uncertainty. He was afraid. Afraid he of losing me..? But… why? I couldn’t remember who he was.
“Alright…” The word left my mouth without my willing it, and the man was gone. I was alone again in the dark.
This dream was the first of many which led me to believe there was something more to the lighthouse than met the eye. Who was this man? I saw him more often in my dreams afterward, in all of them we are living happily in a grand house with lovely friends and music around us. The dreams are always inviting, they flood me with a sense of belonging, even though I don’t remember all the details. I’ve learned, slowly, more about the man- not his name, just little details, like his favorite color, the day we first met, his favorite shirt...
I thought about writing down my dreams, so that I could record details about him- and I did for a while, but the journal always found itself in strange places I didn’t recall putting it. Sometimes it was underneath the clothes in my drawers, sometimes in the microwave, and once I found it suspended from the lighthouse balcony, dangling over the sea by a rope. I barely managed to secure it that time.
Eventually, though, it was hidden so well I couldn’t find it. It was hidden, I’m sure it wasn’t me. I’m confident I’d remember strapping it to the lighthouse, at least. It was like someone was trying to prevent me from figuring something out.
I am inspired to write now because I am onto something. A just woke from an awful, horrible dream, and I need to document it before it fades- even if the note is hidden- even if I never see this page again- !! I need to write it down.
I know now that He was real, the man, that house too- that is the real world, and this lighthouse… it’s somewhere not entirely real. I held his hand as I felt myself fading, as I closed my eyes and saw only red. I heard his screaming, he urged me to hold on, to make it.
I couldn’t do it.
I died then.
How am I here?
How is this possible?
Who--?
by rem sleep » Tue Jun 30, 2020 3:57 pm
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