The Joker’s Naughty Sister

Brought to you by my Nightmares

I have written down every detail I could remember from this one. This nightmare stuck to me the most and also from many of the frightening nightmares, I remember this very vividly.

I made sure I remembered all the details by going over them again and again while trying to sleep because I wanted to write this down. I have been thinking about writing my dreams for a while and this helps.

Sometimes, I think by fixating over these details over and over, the nightmare would come back but it never has. Instead a new one comes every night.

I have put names of the people who were in my dreams by their starting and ending letter of the name in “quotes”.

It starts now…

The dream starts by I boarding the metro to a destination. When I stepped out, it seemed like I was in China Town. I figured so because of the atmosphere, the buildings, the unknown language and the markets. The strange thing was rather than expecting to find what one finds in China Town, I found that it was markets of Harry Potter instead.

The town was abandoned. I was alone. It seemed like some thing out of an apocaplyse but with everything still managing to look fresh.

Each store was a theme related to Harry Potter and this one particular store caught my eye. I guess it was a cafe and outside the entrance were the statues of Harry, Hermione and Ron pointing their wands casting a spell at the store. It was an interesting sight for the eyes.

An unknown sense of cold filled the town and I knew I needed to get out. I felt this dread within. I tried searching for a way to get out. I walked back and forth and around to find a way out.

I don’t what happened next in the dream but now I was at the metro. This metro had connections to the entire world and could take me anywhere. I saw the metro rush behind the glassed doors carrying passengers or something else. I am not sure anymore.

I went down to the platform to ask someone for help and I got helped. I needed to get to Burjuman, a mall in Bur Dubai. I did not know what for, all I knew was that I was headed there.

I stood on the shaking compartment and proceeded to look out at the views outside. It was different but appealing. I saw buildings achieve various architectural feats. Among the many buildings, I saw this one building have the most beautiful stained glass allowing various colours to be seep into the glass building. Those stained glasses had pictures that told stories. Sadly, I did not know what they told.

Now, I was at the airport with my mom and we were in a lounge. This lounge seemed like it was meant for people travelling in an elite class. The lounge was spacious and it had red floors and golden curtains hang. The place gleamed.

There were many tables and six chairs surrounded each one. It was the most fanciest and sophistcated place I have ever been in.

I don’t think I was in the right attire for this atmosphere.

Myself and my mom walked down this big lounge and we find our old neighbours seated at the table right in the middle. It was the mother “M.Y” and her daughter “M.A.L”. It looked like we all were having a jolly time, with choclate mouse on the table for all of us to dig in.

Out of nowhere, this Malayali actor Suresh Gopi comes and decides to sit with us. He sits next to me.

There were 6 chairs at the time, two taken by mom and myself, two taken by the other mother and daughter and one taken by the actor. The other chair was not taken. For some reason I do not rememeber the sixth chair being there but I knew it was. My gut says so.

Suddenly, I find the actor and myself sitting on my chair. I was sitting on a very tiny space of the chair and I was half hanging out but somehow I managed to sit just fine and then numbers of the chair reduced from 6 to 5. I frankly don’t understand the logic of this.

There were 5 occupied chairs but how was the actor still in my chair if the fifth chair were occupied?

The space seemed much smaller and more intimate. I started to panic and with my heart racing out of my chest, I rushed from there.

I did not know where my legs took me but now I was in a small movie theatre hardly with 30-50 seats in it. I saw four of my old high school friends, now who I no longer keep in touch with.

“T.L and J.E” stood on the right side of the theatre while “M.A and A.I” stood on the left. They had concerned looks on their face while watching me break into this paranoia.

I broke down on the stairs. I knelt down and remained there saying to them that I was convinced that I was in some sort of experiment, being controlled, being watched. I was convinced the whole world was in on this. It felt as if I was in a psycholigcal thriller. I was missing the bigger picture, the bigger lie.

Those four people stook there trying to tell something, something in the lines of “what you are thinking is not true, it is nothing of that sorts.”

I was on the main stage now, in front of the big screen, down on the floor. As I rushed towards the door, I found the joker stand. This joker looked different. This joker took the form of Milley Cyrus, a rather frightening version of her. Her hair all tangled in knots, pale white skin, colours of green and purple bled on her face and in her hair. She looked into my eyes viciously with meaning.

In seconds, I found myself spring upright, mere inches away from her face and then I saw what terrified me the most. Her eyes sewn shut. I could see the black thread stitched in and out of her eyes. Her eyes opened.

I was now a few feet apart from her and the Joker. This Joker was now the Joker I was used to seeing in movies. The Joker played by Heath Ledger and then beside him stood that being.

I do not know if you know this, but there is this black board above some of the movie halls that show the movie they are about to play or the ongoing movie in that hall. That board appeared above the movie screen and showed the title “The Joker’s Naughty Sister.”

I was watching all of this behind my computer screen, watching the other me. It felt like I was watching a movie but it was not. I knew that being beside the Joker was me. This connection was personal and intimate. I felt it.

Then I screamed

Dream Over

I screamed for my mom. I called her name out loud. It was as if a demon was being exorcised right out of my body. My mom came by my side and comforted me like always.

She was used to these nightmares of mine. I have them almost every single day and in every single day, I cry out for her name. Most of the nightmares, I do not remember what happened but this one, I did. I do not know why.

Every nightmare, I scream for my mom and in some of them, I wake up in terror. I do not know why I get these. I wish I knew.

I tried going back to sleep but the moment I shut my eyes, I saw the stitched eyes looking back at me. Every time I wanted to close my eyes, instead of seeing darkness, I saw those eyes.

So I opened my eyes out of fear every once a while to get that image out of my head and then I slept.

Dreams

I am a fool for dreams. I am utterly and completely obsessed and in love with dreams.

Dreams are like a comfortable dress, they are laces of wavy soft fabric stitched onto my mind. My dreams are like cloths of different colours layered one after the other making it very flowy and intricate.

They are like a hot air balloon that I hop on to so that I could see the magic of the land above.

I hold on to them and they let me fly into a world that is filled with fantasy.

Dreams are both a curse and boon, sometimes you can chase after these dreams hoping they might turn true eventually or you could just chase them and live in the fantasy and not accept the truth or you could just quit it all and move on to the next dream.

I have dreams, I like to dream. It’s like being in a movie when I am asleep, or going off to a different universe where time works differently altogether. It’s a nice concept.

There are new and familiar faces in my dreams and there are new, horrifying, creative, passionate and unique stories out there that are waiting to be played as soon I go to sleep.

However there are some dreams that often have the same theme going on and on over again. Why? I guess it’s your mind and heart telling your deepest desires and knowing myself, I guess my dreams are the only method to work those out without any complications and repercussion.

Sometimes I do talk and have these cries and screams in my dreams. These are the signs of my nightmares. In very few instances, I do remember my nightmares but many of the times I possibly cannot remember what caused my terrors during my sleep. I seem to wake up without any recollection of what happens. There are times when I am aware of the fact that I have cried and screamed but the others, I am not. I am only aware of it when someone comments about it which then catches me off guard because I can never remember what I dreamed about.

Then there are these dreams that only happen once but they seem too real and you start to question if these dreams are memories supressed down that are now resurfacing up. These type of dreams are the ones where I can’t distinguish whether it was reality or just a dream.

Then those dreams happen where everything is heartbreakingly beautiful and perfect. The story in these dreams are seducing and alluring. The details are perfect and you remember everything even after days and months. You couldn’t be more satisfied but you wish for a continuation because either you were woken up abruptly or you just want a continuation to this story, to see what lies more.

It is an agony being awake after dreaming of it. You would and will want to do anything to go back to them.

So one tries anything, and I mean anything. I have tried to recreate the same scenario by imagining every detail as it was with nothing changed. I imagine the ending in my mind and then try to convince my mind to somehow incooproate this into the continuation of my unfinished dream, but it has never once worked. I always land up with a different dream instead.

I have also come up with various ways on how it would end or how I could continue it without dreaming but none of it as good as dreaming it.

Those good dreams, I feel they are a privilege that has to be earned.

Don’t you ever wish there was a machine to capture all these dreams that you dream of and then you can watch them later like a movie or be able to dream of the continuation in your next sleep?

Why does one dream? Is it a way to indulge into fantasies that reality cannot deem to offer? Are our dreams the actual lives that we live, when we dream, we go to that world and we live our orignal life and the life that we lead when awake is sort of a stimulation run by someone else?

Or are dreams a sort of drug injected in us by aliens, by humans or by any other creature as sort of an experimentation or do they need us to be in heavy slumber and dream so that they do something to us or the world without our knowings?

An other theory of my dreams are that these unknown faces that I dream of, what if they are actual human beings and we all are somehow being put in the same dream by a force. I see my side of the story and they see thiers, what if we are meant to connect all the peices of the story and the dream to find something?

Why are our dreams being interrupted? Is it because we are capable or on the verge of finding something that is not meant to be found?

How do we know that these lives that we lead now are also dreams? I have a theory that this life what I lead, these people I know, these expereinces I am going through are something that has happened in the past or a sort of stimualtion. When in reality, I am in a choma dreaming of all this.

I end all of this now. I depart off to an other world, to another time to dream and you might find me writing my stories there.

Until next time.