Lucy’s Dreaming
But she needs to wake up with the sun
Lavender scented candles. Chamomile tea. Jasmine pillow spray. Don’t forget the bergamot shower oil right before bed. Silk pillowcases and silk eye masks.
My night time routine had become a ritual, and each step is sending me further into insanity.
“But Lucy,” Julia said to me, “tonight might be different.”
Tonight will be different indeed. After rubbing my vanilla scented hand cream into the palms of my dry, weary hands, I slide into the bed, hands clasped, eyes closed.
You see, Julia gave me a sort of spell. A prayer, if you will. Something to whisper quietly to myself as I drift to sleep.
“May this bind never come undone, and I shall wake up with the sun.”
I probably need to repeat it more times than I thought I should. Nothing happens so far. I need to get some water, anyway.
I unclasp my hands, planting them on either sides of my body to lift myself up.
Grass.
I wake up in a forest, always in this forest, at what seems to be dusk — or dawn, I’d never been sure. There is no one else here, fog everywhere, and a sound — a deep, humming sound like a buzzing, dull ache.
It’s coming from everywhere, closing in on me, forcing me to run.
I run and run and run.
I should find a bed.
There had always been a bed, usually around this corner, after I take a turn to the left.
I run a little more through a thick row of trees with low-hanging branches — and finally, a bed.
A bed with myself sleeping on it, silk eye masks on. Scents of lavender and jasmine filling the air.
The sound keeps getting louder and louder.
“Wake up!” I shake myself, taking off the masks. I look behind me and felt the sound coming closer, threatening to eat me alive.
“Lucy, wake up!”
I open my eyes, catching my breath.
Sweat rolls from my temples, and as I lift my hand to wipe it, I realize my eye masks are off. I find scratches all over my arms, dirt and blades of grass on my miserable feet.
Honestly, what kind of lousy spell was that? It didn’t work! Either Julia lied, or Julia don’t know jack about what she was talking about. I think it’s the latter.
The soft, floating light coming from the window on my left almost lulls me back to sleep. It seems like it’s still too early, but I decide to start the day anyway. A breakfast will wake me right up.
At least, I did wake up with the sun.
I glance at the clock on my bedside table.
25:47.
Fucking hell.
Here we go again.
Nirinda Niatiansya is a writer from Jakarta, Indonesia. If you enjoyed this story, find more from Nirinda here:
