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Petty Pretty Nightmare

written by: Adrita Chatterji


It is a little numbing
I cannot figure out which part of the day it is
The daylight seems like it's morning
Early one
The birds are chirping likely because they are alive.
The train in the distant whistles
Procuring all the lost and the left overs.
I am still in my bed, inside my head
The room is dark
I can hear the heater vibrate
But I feel so cold
Like as if I'm dead and thus decaying.
I have no audience
But the lights peeking through the curtain trails
Makes me feel awfully exposed.
I want darkness. Complete darkness.
It is my habit to sleep at an end of the bed.
The other end is so unlikeably cold.
I can describe the things that I can see.
But what about the ones that I cannot?
Well, their presence is haunting.
In a way, where I can feel someone is breathing right next to me
But I cannot see him.
The right end of my chest aches suddenly
Have I felt something forbidden?
My toes are all curled up beneath the blanket.
The blanket is my new comfort arena
That hardly can cover me up to my neck.
I feel so scared. The silence is deafening.
Gibberish Scribbles are audible from the wall.
A child's work perhaps.
The mirror in my mind
Has the exact same room as the one I'm currently at.
The parameters are not so bound.
I'm a little confused.
Do I sound sane? Or is it just me?
Suddenly an inflammation occurred
Like a lightning struck
Red burning light all over the room.
I can sense the danger. The danger that I am.
With every detail that my body can sense,
I get up from the bed.
Something patchy is stuck on my left cheek
I guess it is some sweet that I'd eaten last night.
My arms ache like hell.
I can understand that I just woke up from a dream
A bad one, still why do I feel dreadfully tired?
Somehow the blinking of the red light leads me to my door.
With all my might, I pull it.
I feel nauseated. Something smelly has latched itself to my cloth.
For this odor is my only sane sensation.
Outside the door, it is not so dark.
Not so enlightened either.
I make it to the wall, before my washstand.
The tap seems like a friend now.
Opening it, I feel the running water splash itself all over my rough fingers.
The arms are still aching.
I look up at the mirror.
Frightened like a day owl, I scream.
The face is unknown to me.
I am residing in a body, which is perhaps, not mine.
No, wait, it is mine.
Except the blood all over my left cheek and my forehead.
Is it my blood? Am I hurt? Or is it somebody else's?
A dream I saw. Yes, a bad dream it was.
Nightmare may sound it right.
I was killing someone. Possibly a friend.
We had an argument over a petty cause.
She dropped by my home to apologise.
I was calm all along her sorry face,
Then I wanted to see what it felt like to kill her.
Hence, I did what I could.
But wasn't it a bad dream as I referred?
Was it not a dream then? Was it for real?
I'd kept her ice-cold body in my freezer.
Piece by piece, I've melted her skin into shiny pieces.
Then I woke up. For it killed me to kill her.
I woke up thence, didn't I?
Or is this a dream all along and I'm still asleep?
I'm moaning for the beast that I look.
My eyes are bleeding tears, but
I feel so proud.
Inhumanly flabbergasted with myself!
The massacre I am capable of organising.
The God that I've become.
The Beast that rests in me.
But it should be all a dream, shouldn't it?
All of it a sullen Lullaby...

Adrita Chatterji

Adrita Chatterji

I'm an aspiring poet trying to make it through the crowd. Recently my works have been published in an e-book and two e-magazines. An engineer in making by career, a poet by passion.
Adrita Chatterji

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