Running From Me

The past is chasing me. The world around me flies by in a mesh of colours blurring together: people with no faces, the blossoming trees of spring and endless streets. I'm still running at the same pace because I can't seem to run any farther. No can help me either. All I can do is run as far as my legs take me, because I don't know know what will happen if the person behinds me catches up to me. Nothing good.

My brain makes the connection that I'm dreaming, but that doesn't help. My fear doesn't dissipate. I cross a busy street, nearly missing a honking car that drives by. My heart beats quickly, and my legs start to slow. No! But I can't scream. I never can in my dreams. I silence myself even in my subconscious mind. There are so many people everywhere, but I can't tell who is real or if my mind has conjured up an illusion. I feel real.

Because this is a dream, I turn onto the most familiar street that I've known in real life. A private street, because there's no people here and it's an "exclusive" community. I'm going home. Only it's not really my home, but my childhood one. I don't think it matters anyway, but I need somewhere to hide. I left that home when I was twelve and I've had plenty of beautiful dreams about it, but never something like this. The houses were always beautiful down this street, whether small or large. Most of them are made from white or grey stone and are built sturdy and welcoming. I remember the backyard barbecues, the old grandmothers saying hello, and running through the sprinklers with my siblings. Now I'm an adult, running past old memories, with legs not as fast. My house is at the end of the street. It's made of white rock with a mahogany roof and looks just as it did when my family left it behind in the dust because we moved on to something better. That's what my mother had told me anyways. I race onto the manicured lawn that houses a rose bush and a cherry tree. The wooden door is locked, and I pound on it but to no avail. I look behind me and my assailant has just turned onto this street. I can get in through the basement window. I scale the side of the house and kneel down to push open the small window. I'm surprised I'm still able to fit through despite the fact that it's all these years later. I feel young and agile again as I fall through easily, landing on my feet. I push the window closed behind me. I take in all my surroundings and everything looks familiar enough. There's some things that are different though, like a new sofa that looks tacky compared to the rest of the furniture. Framed pictures of cats and dogs line the walls, not of family members. There's toys scattered all over the floor; trains, dolls, trucks, puzzles. I breathe in the smell of wood, which is the only thing I can recognize.

My mind feels dizzy, standing in a familiar place with strange items that aren't mine strewn about. I knew that other people moved in right when we left but my heart still sets heavy against my chest. I don't think I can hide here anyhow. It's messy, but not enough for me to remain unseen. I rush up the carpeted stairs and open the door, blinded by the sunlight streaming in from all of the windows. I forgot that this house had large windows. Through the window in the living room I can see the assailant trailing through the front yard, glaring right up at me. I cry out and rush up the stairs, nearly stumbling from the momentum. On instinct, I head to my old room, but I know that's not a good place to hide. I rush inside and slam the door, shuddering from the impact. The door doesn't even have a lock, so I'm an open target. There's no weapons either. If I'm to die, I may as well look around and remember the good times. Unlike the basement, everything is the same here. My own mind is protecting me. There's still the thick carpeted floor, the silk curtains draping over the window that looks over my balcony. The closet still has all of my old clothes and I run my hand through the fabrics, smiling. Even my old halloween costumes are here. My bed is perfectly made, the quilted comforter draped over pillows and pillows, my stuffed animals facing in my direction. I sit on my bed and grab a book from the bookshelf that's attached to the backboard of the bed. My favourite book when I was a child. I open it to the first page, but it's blank. The whole book is blank. I throw the book away from me in surprise. There's a pang in my heart.

The knob of the door turns and the person steps through. But it's me. Another one of me, like I'm watching my actions from above. The blank book lays splayed open, near the other me's shoe. "Stop," I say, but who am I talking to? We are the same person. "What?" I ask, trembling, from the same mouth that said "stop." The room shifts and I'm not sitting on colourful patterns on my bed anymore. There's no bedding at all. There's no more carpeted floor, or even sun coming in from the window. It's just dark. There's nothing in the closet, my halloween costumes gone. I put my head in my hands. I've never had a nightmare like this. I push past the other me and peer out the door. There's a family, happy, laughing and making jokes. Two parents, three children. They don't see me at all. I can't bear this so I close the door and sit on the bare mattress, weeping into my hands. "You need to stop going back," I say, talking to myself. The other me is talking. I shake my head and close my eyes, pressing my forehead to my wrists. I try to imagine a colourful comforter, like all the colours of a rainbow that have mashed together to make something beautiful. But I can't. My mind is empty and my memories seem to be fading. I try to imagine closets of familiar clothes, but nothing comes to mind. What did I wear for Halloween in 2007? What did the carpeted floor feel like under my feet? I don't know the answers. I can't imagine anything or conjure up any memories. Why is this other person, other me, doing this? Usually in my dreams I'm running from someone I don't know. But this person I do know. I don't know which me is real. Maybe neither. All I know is to run. To run away, far from what I don't like seeing. What scares me. I don't even open my eyes as I run from the other me. I just run, and I'm fast this time. I can't see where I'm going at all, and I don't care. I run.