I didn’t sleep much last night and have this dream coming back into my head. I experienced it when I was around six years old.
I am in a room; it is dark and musty. Looking over I see walls on all sides but in the center sits a pedestal. Resting there are beautiful flowers of all colors–red, blue, white, yellow, and pink. I turn away from them and try to find a way out. In the corner of my ear, I hear whispering. It is faint and frightening and grows louder.
Soon, all I can hear is a indistinguishable whispering. Several voices going on about nonsense in my head.
I look back at the flowers and notice the white one is bending over in a sickly fashion. The others follow suit turning slow shades of brown. Of all the voices, I make sense of one now.
“Help us” it whispers. “Help us.” I can’t. I can’t do anything. I stand there and watch them–watch them wither away into dust. The dust we all become upon death. The kind that gusts in the wind and stains our tables.
Still, I stand there young and failed. I could not save them. The flowers were all dead, but the whispers continued.
"Save us, save us, save us " they say in a hallowed out voice. It is aired and brings me discomforting chills. Looking at the dead petals, I realize something. I could not save them. I had failed.
I awoke soon after and ran to my mother’s room in fear. She told me to go back to bed. I experienced the dream once more. This time instead of “save us” they chanted “help us.” Again, I could not help them. I failed a second time.
Several times in my life this dream has revisited. It torments with my mind and jests with my emotions. I am not free of it, and I always fail. It visited me last night to remind me that I strive in vain. I do not stop though. I know that this next time, I will not fail.