Of a dream recalled yet unwritten.

She woke up, with a start. Her skin was cool, like the grey rocks,that sit on the wet ochre sands and let the frivolous waters wash over them. But the dreams had stired her placid blood into a furious, savage rage, that gushed wildly throughout her twenties body, screaming to come out, infuriated that it couldnt and gnawing like a piranha at the yellow epidermal that contained it. Her heart was pulsing wildy, needling a painful tatoo on her chest."STOP. STOP HEART, STOP!". Stupid heart, meek lamb by day, a tigress at night. What was the dream all about, that her heart was so being so primitive and carnal? Puzzled, annoyed and a little frantic, she tried to recollect and piece together her dream before her body tuned to total consciousness and shredded the last lingering effects of it.

The night before. 

Yes, the night. She remembered the crafty night of the yesterday, it had seemed like a butter-fingered artist's painting. Corpulent drops of black all over the canvas-Plop,Plop,Plop. Some hastily painted thumbprints of yellow and white added as an after-thought. She remembered coming into her room tired with the daily diatribe of emotions. She rememberd changing into her blue-pink boxers, she rememberd switching on the laptop. She remembered selecting Cold-Play, she remembered  pulling out the black plastic packet from her pink  bag. She remembered switching of her lights to soak her room, only with the purple that was streaming through her open window. She remembered sitting down on her bed, cross legged, pouring a little bit of that vitrolic liquid in her steel glass. Green Apple Vodka, the bottle read. For safety's sake, she let a little bit of Sprite splink in too. 

The first taste, she remembered. Like licking metal.Or corroded iron. Nauseatingly sweet. The scrunching up of her little r eyes, the puckering of her little nose.  ColdPlay picked up on the frenzy, as if on cue. Their beats were pure, and it prickled your nose,  a portrait of planes out of symmetry, a disturbingly pretty picture.She remembered starting to hum those haunting lyrics that had started  rushing around in little black strings of air around her head, meshing and fusing. She remembered wanting to fly, even though there was a minisicule rivulet down one cheek. After that things got vague, the reminiscing became difficult. Falling on the floor, throwing the phone, wanting to bang her head to smithereens, amplified hate, amplified heartache. Clothes sliding off, sleep, waking up,sleep. But, the dream, she could not bring back her dream! 

"Forget,Bloody dream, bloody heart". She looked around, meekly, surreiptiously, eyes seeking the vestiges of the night.  She looked like a drunk lady who spends an amorous night at an exotic stranger's bed and wakes up to a terrifying conscience, puzzling memories and an ordinary, not so glamorous self.The sulphurous smell of alcohol still hung around her room, like a bored bumblee bee. The  glass lay like a martyr on her tiled floor, the sunlight spilled like butter through her sturdy bottle of Vodka.One of her paper butterflies lay balefully on the ground, did she rip that poor thing from the wall ? Eeukh,and her tongue felt like sandpaper- a fertile pink land for sowing maybe those abrasive pine cones? Another passionate night of alcohol. Another lousy day of yet another hangover. She thrashed around for her bottle of mineral water, her body thirsty. Gulp. Gulp. GULP. Her feet dug in lazily into her blankets, legs stretched, toes outstretched, till the she could feel the curious tingling on her left toe. She tossed her pillow on the side, 

She rubbed her eyes, her fingers, gently removing her the caked up discharge at the corners. Her eyes sweeped arcs across her blue painted room,resting finally at the table on the corner. And then she remembered, her dream. It wasnt a dream at all, it was a living, hammering nightmare.