Day 3. An abandoned house, a dead child, and a flowerbed

Hi, welcome!

Glad you could be here again. Today is the 3rd day of the 30-day writing challenge and this one is a bit confusing, but highly interesting.

3. Provide your stream of consciousness during the worst nightmare you’ve ever had.


I will start this off with the question: what is consciousness when you are asleep?

Is it what you see, think and do as an asleep person or is it the thoughts you have about the dream during the dream as an awake person?

And worst nightmare… Hmmm, again, confusing. I honestly don’t think I have ever had a really, really bad nightmare since on some level, I don’t mind the usual stuff of nightmares. Mostly because it is exciting and when you wake up, it is all gone and that relief is just a great feeling.

So I suppose my worst nightmare should be judged by how distressed I was during the dream, instead of how distressed I was after the dream? So for me, that just means I need to think about the most horrible feeling I have experienced while I was asleep. And write about it. I guess?

See, confusing stuff. Or perhaps I am making it confusing. Both seem quite plausible.

Disclaimer: What you will read below is my worst nightmare and it isn’t pretty. Not in my eyes anyway, but it might not be pretty in yours either. If you read this, I hope you will keep in mind that it was a nightmare and not reality and that none of the events or feelings or actions are my own. If you have a hard time with death or being chased, I suggest skipping ahead to day 4.

Skip today

If that didn’t stop you, here we go. Cue nightmare and roll the movie.

I am on the run. I am hurried. There isn’t much time. I need to get to the house. Luckily it is there, right on top of the curved hill.

Everything is quiet. Desolated. Abandoned.

It feels like there hasn’t been anyone here in years, yet the house looks like the people left five minutes ago. But I know that isn’t the case.

The house looks like this because the people living here had to flee. They went in a hurry and everything stayed exactly where they left it.

Lights still on, food on the table, newspaper half read.

The house looks like the inhabitants could return any second, but I know that won’t happen. After all, nobody is staying in their houses anymore.

Everyone is on the move. Just like me. I need to go through this house as quickly as I can, grab as much as I can and leave as fast as I can.

They are waiting for me.

All the stuff I gather fits in my wheelbarrow that I push over the stone road. On the side is a dark coverage of pine trees and even though I am sure it is my imagination, I could swear I saw eyes watching me.

Is it the dog from the house? I think it is. I hope it is. Maybe it isn’t.

Quick, just leave. The others are waiting. There they are. There he is. My friend. He is here to help me with the wheelbarrow.

The eyes in the forest disappear. He is no longer watching me. For now.

We need to go. We have to leave.

We push the wheelbarrow filled with our only possessions up the curved hill, trying to stay away from the tree line. It would be best if we didn’t get too close.


There it is. Finally. The house. The others are already there. They are waiting.

Is she safe? Is my baby safe?

I forget about the wheelbarrow and run towards the group of women and men. My friend hands me my baby. She is soundly asleep. She is safe.

I hold her. I cuddle her. I kiss her.

We are safe here.

At least, that is what I thought. We were safe here. Now we aren’t anymore.

We have to go. We have to leave. And my baby, my poor baby, she can’t come with us.

None of them can.

We weep. All of us women, we weep. But we can’t change this fate. We are bound to it. Bound to this horrible world.

We have to go. We have to leave. And my baby can’t come with us.

I can feel the roughness of the wooden handle of the axe as I swing it above my head. The sin long corrupting my heart and soul before the pain finds my child.

It doesn’t take long. It is quick and fast. It is awful.

I am broken now. That is now my truth. I couldn’t take her with me. I still can’t take her with me.

None of us can.

The axe falls out of my hands as I cradle my child. I hold her with the same love that I had for her when she was still alive.

I want to hold her forever. I never want to let her go.

But I do. I place her little body in a blue plastic tub and cover her with a blue blanket. I don’t have anything else.

She looks so peaceful. You can’t even tell. She looks like she is asleep.

I hope she is. I hope she is in a better place than I am.

Behind the house is a colorful flowerbed. A reminder of how the world used to be. That is where I bury here. Beneath the flowers. My last wish for her. A safe resting place.

And as the ground swallows my child, I fall. And I cry and weep. My heart broken, my soul torn, my sanity on the verge of breaking.

Everything inside of me feels like pain. My heart is hurting. My head is hurting. My soul is hurting.

This is the worst thing I have ever felt. The loss of my child. Of my baby. My beautiful baby. The loss of myself.

It strikes me, it consumes me, it mocks me. And it will haunt me. For the rest of my life.

From now on, I will carry guilt and pain along with me like faithful companions. My heart is crying. It is screaming and weeping. It yells in anger, in frustration. It bleeds in resentment and desperation.

I am broken now that she is gone.

I want to stay here with her. I want to water the flowers, I want to tend to her garden. I want to keep her with me until I can follow her.

And yet, I can’t. There is no time. We have to go. We have to leave. There is no space left for mourning anymore. There is no time for grieving anymore.

This world doesn’t feel anymore. It doesn’t live anymore.

We no longer live. We are doomed.

They are watching us. They are coming. We have to go.

We have to leave.

This is my worst nightmare. Hands down.

Maybe in your eyes, this is nothing compared to your nightmares, but to me, it was truly horrible. The feeling of an apocalyptic world, desolation, the loss of a child and the despair it brought.

I have no idea where that dream came from or what it meant. I mean, I don’t even have a child, but when I had that dream, for one moment, I felt it. I felt a sliver of the despair a parent feels when they lose their baby.

And to me, from everything that I had ever felt, awake or asleep, that was by far the most horrible feeling ever.

It was dark and heavy and it was nothing less of utter despair and doom.

I can’t even imagine what it would feel like if that ever happened in real life and dear God, I hope I never experience it. I wish no one ever had to experience that. After all, like a wise king once said: no parent should bury their child.

I hope you won’t think lesser of me. After all, I can’t control my dreams and I certainly can’t control what I do in them.

I hope you are still around.

What is your worst nightmare?


Previously: Day 2. The beginning of the end of the world.

My most amazing experience told in the most boring way possible.

Next up: Day 4. Italian biscotti and checkered tablecloths in Venice

What I would do if I ran away from home


  1. Pingback: Day 2. Incredible VS Boring – Arizona Type

  2. Pingback: Day 4. Italian biscotti and checkered tablecloths in Venice – Arizona Type

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