Six Years Old
the dream
I am six years old. My mother is holding me on her hip, like she used to. She doesn't pick me up a lot now - she didn't last year either - because I'm growing so much. And her knee is hurting her more.
But she's holding me, and even though she's talking to that woman - that horrible, ugly, evil witch - I know I'm safe as long as I'm in Mommy's arms.
We're standing in the living room, the front door open behind us. Standing across from us is the evil witch - who's pretending to be a babysitter for some reason - and behind her are my relatives - my aunts, uncles and grandparents, spilling into the kitchen.
I know Mommy has to go to the grocery store, and I know she wants me to stay home. But I'm too little. I'm not allowed to stay home alone.
I hear her talking to the evil witch. I know what's going on. I know why that horrible woman is pretending to be a babysitter.
My mother doesn't know. Nobody knows. Nobody knows what I know.
That woman is evil.
Like the witch in Hansel and Grettal, who lured little children with her candy house, then cooked them and ate them. Like Ursula, the evil octopus woman who stole Ariel's voice then tried to marry the prince. Like the queen, who hid in disguise to feed Snow White a poisoned apple, or the mean fairy that tried to kill baby Aurora. Or like the Wicked Witch of the West who chased Dorothy for the red slippers in The Wizard of Oz.
I struggle as Mommy tries to hand me to the witch. As I'm screaming and clinging, I wonder if they can see what I see: the hooked nose with the ugly wart, the jutting chin and the sharp teeth and wrinkles. The strange cloak. But most of all, the way she wiggles her fingers and licks her lips as if eager to eat me. I wonder if anybody else sees that hungry look in her eyes.
"Mommy, no! Please, Mommy, please!" I scream. Tears are running down my face as she pushes me away, toward the evil, hungry witch. "No!" The scream hurts my throat, but I have to make her see, them see. How can they do this? How can they hand me over to this creature, ignoring my pleas and protests?
"No!" I scream again.
I'm in my room. In my bed. My mother's worried face hovers over me. I'm still sobbing, tears running into my ears, but I've stopped screaming.
Mommy picks me up and carries to the bathroom to wash my face.
But I'm safe. As long as I'm in her arms, I'm safe.
But she's holding me, and even though she's talking to that woman - that horrible, ugly, evil witch - I know I'm safe as long as I'm in Mommy's arms.
We're standing in the living room, the front door open behind us. Standing across from us is the evil witch - who's pretending to be a babysitter for some reason - and behind her are my relatives - my aunts, uncles and grandparents, spilling into the kitchen.
I know Mommy has to go to the grocery store, and I know she wants me to stay home. But I'm too little. I'm not allowed to stay home alone.
I hear her talking to the evil witch. I know what's going on. I know why that horrible woman is pretending to be a babysitter.
My mother doesn't know. Nobody knows. Nobody knows what I know.
That woman is evil.
Like the witch in Hansel and Grettal, who lured little children with her candy house, then cooked them and ate them. Like Ursula, the evil octopus woman who stole Ariel's voice then tried to marry the prince. Like the queen, who hid in disguise to feed Snow White a poisoned apple, or the mean fairy that tried to kill baby Aurora. Or like the Wicked Witch of the West who chased Dorothy for the red slippers in The Wizard of Oz.
I struggle as Mommy tries to hand me to the witch. As I'm screaming and clinging, I wonder if they can see what I see: the hooked nose with the ugly wart, the jutting chin and the sharp teeth and wrinkles. The strange cloak. But most of all, the way she wiggles her fingers and licks her lips as if eager to eat me. I wonder if anybody else sees that hungry look in her eyes.
"Mommy, no! Please, Mommy, please!" I scream. Tears are running down my face as she pushes me away, toward the evil, hungry witch. "No!" The scream hurts my throat, but I have to make her see, them see. How can they do this? How can they hand me over to this creature, ignoring my pleas and protests?
"No!" I scream again.
I'm in my room. In my bed. My mother's worried face hovers over me. I'm still sobbing, tears running into my ears, but I've stopped screaming.
Mommy picks me up and carries to the bathroom to wash my face.
But I'm safe. As long as I'm in her arms, I'm safe.
♠ ♠ ♠
A little short of the word requirement, but I didn't want to weigh it down any more. It was a long time ago that I had this dream, and this is nearly exactly how I remember it. Before, when I had thought of it from time to time, it seemed kind of silly. But when I was writing it, I was scared all over again. I'm so happy I joined this contest because it made me analyze my dream... and see it in a new light. It made me think.