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ColorG has also gone for a nap after her daughters shared their bells with her. She lies sleeping on her bed, her only hiding place from the shadow feelings that haunt her more often now and then. Earlier in the day, she had experienced a darker heaviness of depression than usual. It frightened her soul. She suspects her implant. Is it telling on herself . . . to herself, and compounding her undeserved shame?
She rolls over to a new position and begins to dream. Like a gray watercolor painting, her old residence of 20 years ago can be seen on a hill. It looks like the house in the movie, "Psycho", nestled on the knoll nest to the "Bates Motel". The house is breathing slightly. Ever so easily breathing and waiting for her. The door of the house silently hinges closed . . . then . . . gently opens as it inhales her nearness. Its broken window eyes watch her.
She is walking towards it, floating and moving up to the open front door. She doesn't even want to go near the place. Her mind's loud speaker has turned up it volume so she can hear her heart pounding and she knows the house can hear her now. It holds terrible memories for her and wants to engulf every part of her being.
Relentlessly, the director of her nightmare requires her to go to the house. And oh no-he is going to make her go into its inner sanctum. ColorG begins the cold dampness of panic sweating.
She can see Alfred Hitchcock's face in the dark sky's clouds. He has a stone cold expression. In Hitchcock fashion, he wants her to be naked so everyone can view her and contemplate her charms as he directs the house to slice and stab her to death while the audience witnesses, maximizing their entertainment pleasure.
Seated in the theater's comfortable seats, people stare at her dream movie as the toss pinches of popcorn into their chewing mouths. Her breathing is starting to burn her throat and her eyes are open far too wide. She knows she is about to be murdered yet again - for the hundredth time.
The scene changes and she is in the front room of the house. It is an abandoned shell now. The windows are broken out, dirt and dust and mold everywhere; cobwebs covering everything. Small creatures and reptilian like little demons scamper under the old sofa and around tipped over tables and chairs. A haunting, ghost like, droning sound permeates the entire house, giving her dream an eerie 3 dimensional effect.
She looks down. A cigarette burns away in a small black plastic ash tray on the goo and grime covered coffee table. It's her ex husband's cigarette. All of a sudden, he is standing there, cursing her with insane accusations. His fists shake and drool runs down from his growling mouth as gray smoke blows out his nostrils.
The scene changes again and she is lying on the rotted bed in the grizzly upstairs bedroom-frozen. She can't move. She is paralyzed. Her ex-husband stands over her, shaking an empty pill bottle and demanding to know if she has taken them. She is able to ever so slightly nod her head-eyes.
Showing mock concern, he says that he will go and call a doctor, and walks out of the room, cigarette smoke trailing behind him. In her mind, she screams to him, "Wake me up! I don't want to die." She knows he is just going to get drunk. He isn't going to call a doctor. He is hoping she will die-and she is.
Her mind tries to scream louder, "I have to WAKE UP."
"WAKE UP, wake up, Mom!" says ColorG's oldest daughter. "We have to go to the dining room. A big wave is coming."
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