Twisted

~3~

And if I thought she was unhappy?

That would just make me even more sad.

I'd hate to have to find out she had been living under a box with people abusing her or never leaving her alone.

I miss her.

A lot.

She told me to stay strong. No matter what happens. And that's what I'm trying to do. Stay strong, for she could be watching at any moment.

I think it would help her to see her daughter being a strong independent young lady!

Independent young lady that has purple eyes.

That's how I see it. I see it like it is. No more, no less.

Most of the time I wake up just crying.

Though, there are those nights where I wake up. Sitting in bed. Screaming my head off. Those nights are the worst.

Not only me having to loose my voice, but I have to witness Dad rushing into my room with a bat in the air trying to hit whatever is hurting me.

It's just too bad he can't hit bad dreams.

Don't get me wrong, he's trying his best to stop these horrible dreams. I've told him about some of them. Especially the coffin sharing one.

He took them all really hard. Dad is one of these people that look for answers to life in emotion and through natural occurrence's. Then when I told him these dreams he said they were a sign or some mumbo-jumbo mess like that.

I can't take him seriously when he switches from science nerd and loving Dad to some crazy voo-doo black magic emotion depth stuff or whatever you call it.

When I did tell you about Mom, the first time he ran me to the store and bought me the most expensive dream catcher anyone could ever see. He hung it right over my head, but I woke up screaming that night as well.

That had failed, so he took me to a therapist. Several, several therapist. They couldn't find anything going on in my head that was messed up. They said I had a perfect mind.

Then we came across a foreign lady named, "Olga" or something like that. She spoke like she was on some kind of drug, "You come across big journey. No run from it. Seek thrill and keep going. Keep going."

Dad never took me back to her after the third session. But over that span of three weeks I didn't have a single nightmare. All pleasant dreams.

The best was me and Mom hoping around in a field of bright sunflowers.

Not caring about a thing, just us. Like it used to be. But then at the end she blew away when a gust came. It was sad at first, except when she was getting ready to completely fade, she closed her eyes and smiled.

I woke up after that moment, and smiled myself. I've been lost in thought. Just sitting in my bed. This makes me smile.

I alternate through good dreams I've had and the bad ones.

The list of dreams go on and on in my head. After about fourteen good dreams and seventeen bad ones Dad interrupts me by waving his hands in front of my face. Bringing me back in reality. For some reason, it's the one place I hate more than dream/nightmare land.

"Oh." I look in the mirror seeing hazel - normal - eyes. "Thanks Papa."

"You need anything?"

"No. It was just a nightmare."

"Kay. See ya in the morning." He shuts my door, leaving me alone in my room. That was some dream. I look at my digital clock, 4 am. What's the point of going back to sleep, if I need to be getting ready for school at 5 o'clock?