“Get back! Get back to the Waiting Room!” exclaimed Mrs. B,
as she pounds her mallet of steel on the wall.
She
has changed, a lot.
She
was one of my teachers in high school. But now, it seems as if she’s part of
the authorities. Like a military woman, or a policewoman, or more of a
commander of some army. And in my
head, I was thinking, “What happened
between then and now? Why did she change?”
“One minute! I just need to get a band-aid,
and antibiotics,” I
said. But I was wondering, “why
antibiotics?”
I remember
being scratched during a stampede. It’s just a minor wound, though, but she
bought my excuse. It bought me some time to go over my stuff in my bag, and look for
something. Funny how I can’t remember what I was looking for, until Mrs. B
bolted inside the Luggage Room.
“What’s taking you so long? You got your
band-aid already!”
fumed Mrs. B.
She
looked displeased, as if I disobeyed her command to get back to the Waiting
Room.
“I need my meds! See?” I showed her a
packet of pills, without even reading what they’re for.
“Faster! Move faster!” shouted Mrs. B. In
my head, I was thinking, “What is it with
her? What’s with all the shouting?”
“Ok. Ok. Jeez,” I exclaimed, and
then ran out of room.
Outside,
it was a horrid sight to behold—a lot of bodies were scattered on the ground,
mostly bathing in their own blood. Majority of them are shot. Some are barely breathing;
while others just lay lifeless on the floor.
I ran
to safety, working my way towards the sign board that says “Waiting Room.”
Then I
woke up, gasping for air.
***to be continued…
P.S. F*ck dreams! Why
do they have to be this crazy?
2 comments:
is that a recurring dream? series ba itech. that's scary ah.
@Hustin: scary noh?! i'm still trying to recall yung ibang detalye nung dream.. i'll post the other parts soon.. :)
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