Bitter Grounds

Ohhhh yeah, it’s coffee talk time—but I’m not serving up fresh roasted goodness.  Oh no. See, I was a 3rd shift truck stop waitress once upon an eon ago, and I know what foul coffee can be like. Made at 6am, left to cook and congeal and get downright bitter throughout the day. 2nd shift doesn’t clean it or dump it, they leave it. And that last cup sits at the bottom like tar, just waiting for some sucker to think it’s fresh and take a swig… so their esophagus can bubble and crack and peel, as liquid skunk slithers down their gullet to land in their stomach and give even the most vile forgot-to-eat-before-you-got-drunk-and-puked-through-your-nose acids a run for its money as “King of the Ewww”. Yeah, it’s that kind of coffee day…

We all have dreams. We all have happy memories of some great dream, whether conscious or not, that played out just the way it should and woke you with a smile. But what of the nightmares? What of the things, much like that coffee, that were left to fester and rot in your brain? The stuff that chases you into sleep and finds life there, to torture you, make you question where it came from, and whether or not you’re even sane anymore. The stuff that causes cold sweats and screams in the dark and those crazy times when you’re actually crying in your sleep and wake with wet cheeks… I wanna know about those. What was your worst nightmare?

Now, I’m not talking about your average nightmare. I’m not talking about losing your job and your house burning down and your dog getting run over. I’m talking about the ones that come back, either as reoccurring nightmares that make you afraid to sleep, or the kind that haunt you for days, weeks, years because they upset you on such a level. Those.

Dig deep, girls and boys, and show me what’s behind your dreams… tell me what your mind is capable of doing to you.

0 Responses to Bitter Grounds

  • Raven Z. says:

    Oddly enough the ones that scared my MOTHER the most when I was a child were the ones I tried to convince her were good dreams … the screaming that woke my grandmother up was me trying to save my ‘friend’ in them.

    At the time they started I had no idea there were any other religions than ‘God and Jesus’. In these dreams, which I had until my late 20s, Lucifer, kept coming to me, always as my same age or just a few years younger asking me why he was never given a chance to be forgiven. Angels and demons both would try to come to take him away, we would hide, and the dreams would end with him crying on my lap. He was just like the beautiful angelic cherubs in my grandmother’s special bible with the color illustrations, right down to natural curls.

    Kind of heavy for an eight year old, but it makes sense now that I’m pagan. Although I suppose I could’ve gone the Satanist route. LMAO. They wouldn’t ‘get’ those dreams either.

    As for my idea of nightmares, they usually involve big-ass Tim Curry Pennywise looking clowns!

  • I’ve had several reoccurring nightmares such as the one about a Godzilla like monster destroying my city and coming awfully close to stomping on me or the one about the seven foot pit behind the next door neighbor’s house that I fell in when I was six years old — only in my dream I don’t escape . . . those are the nightmares I love.

    The nightmare that I hate — the one that startles me awake and yet I still spend minutes reassuring myself that it never happened — the one that is so darn realistic it’s almost a lucid dream (except I’m not aware that I’m dreaming and I can’t control it) is the dream where I hit someone with my car. I’ve even been jolted awake on the verge of tears when, in actuality I didn’t own any car, and I still had to tell myself that it’s only a dream . . . it’s only a dream . . .

    I don’t even remember most of these dreams — just the sickening thunk and the panicked stomping on my brakes as I beg for this not to be happening. I get out of the car and I see there is no saving this person. They’re already gone. And my life is over . . . I’m going to lose everything dear to me in the repercussions to come and even if I didn’t — this would now and forever more be a part of me.

    The dream, which happens a couple of times a year, took a very ugly turn eight years ago after the birth of my daughter — because now the person I hit with my car in my dreams is always a child.

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  • Qweequeg says:

    I had one recently, it was quite simple, but it still had me pretty freaked.

    Real life context – I had just that day broken up with my boyfriend, who I still care about very much as a person in my life, but he was not taking it well, and was very, very angry.

    The dream – I was walking out of his house to get something out of my car – not my current car, but rather my old baby blue 1962 Mercury Comet from several years back. I was leaning across the front seats from the passenger side to get something on the driver’s side, when there was a loud boom, loud enough to shake the car so I had to brace myself to keep from toppling over. Then it came a second time, rocking the car violently. Startled, I turned to get out of the car, and my mother who passed away in 1990 was standing there. I asked her, “What was that?!” To which she calmly replied, “The end of Everything.” In that instant, I realized my boyfriend had just blown his head off (tho I never saw it in the dream). A split-second later I woke up, bolt upright, cold-sweating with my heart pounding up in my throat like it was trying to burst through…

    Result – It was 3 in the morning, but I couldn’t calm down until I called, woke him, heard his voice and knew he was okay.

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