Pounds of Dirt

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Nightmares.”

Its lightning outside. Raining hard. There. At the top of the hill stands a mansion. A grand old house. White with pillars. Its rustic and old. Most likely abandoned although lights still shine through some of the pale frosty windows. At the bottom of the hill is where I stand. Or what seems like myself. And then a dark figure emerges from the house slowly making its way down the hill. I proceed to run.

Run in the direction opposite of where it will get me. Further down this hill, my legs aren’t moving me anywhere. Out of nowhere, a huge pit opens in the ground and in I stumble in. Coffin like measurements, I cant reach or even begin to pull myself out of this dark and consuming hole. The figure who was once far away is now standing above me. Its a shadow figure. No face. I once heard that if you have dreams with an unknown figure, it is often yourself. This figure takes it shovel and slowly starts to grab dirt from a pile beside the hole. One by one, pounds of dirt are thrown on me. Blinding my eyes, I start screaming. Its suffocating and there is no escape.

I awake with beads of sweat, gasping for air. Its still dark. Laying in my bed, I am safe. Unfortunately, this dream has not occurred once. This dream is consistent and I awake like this from that nightmare every couple of months.

Whats it mean? I have no earthly dirtly idea.

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