Her Name Was Alice

Alice had a dream. Not a goal or a hopeful vision, but a true image that flickered beneath closed eyelids as she tossed and turned between the sheets. She’d had dreams before, of course; everyone does. Some have lovely, pleasant dreams in which the most desperate hopes of their hearts come alive. But not all dreams are welcomed. Also existing are nightmares, ghastly illusions that have one flinching and clutching at the covers in an uneasy slumber; almost like hers.

It was a half-remembered vision with a nightmare’s content; a horrid scene glimmering with a hint of beauty; a scene painted with the breath-taking hues and skill of an artist’s skilled hand. A dream that left her with an image that left her blood running cold. It was the dream that cemented her vision; illuminating the path she was soon to take. It was the dream that hid, ready to pounce in the shadowed corners of her fragile mind, hissing and whispering at the fringes. And as her loneliness bore even greater silence, the whispers grew ever louder.

Some are lucky enough that, when they wake, the visions from their deep slumber have already begun to fade, as if the sun’s early rays had met against their inky hues and left them as parchment, dried and with only a miniscule amount of its pigment left in what was once a wondrous picture. But there are also those who awaken in a cold sweat, sitting, shocked, upright as they try to brush off the lingering feelings and vivid images imprinted into their minds; a knife of fear twisting in their gut.

In the way that dreams often do, this one took all of the loose thoughts and “if only”’s rattling about within the girl’s mind and mashed them together into a single abstract stream of sound and color. If only those thoughts had been cheerful. Perhaps it would have been a dream revolving about something other than a great fall and a blade. Perhaps it wouldn’t have included the incident with the white-coated man. Perhaps it would not have shown their faces, all lost to her. Maybe, by some miraculous chance, she would have had the power to simply brush it off and continue with her pitiful life, making something out of it yet.