My Heart Speaks (iwishyouknew) wrote, @ 2004-10-04 21:51:00

I Had A Horrible Dream
This morning I had the worst dream of my life.

In my dream, my daughter was my sister, and I was just a kid. She had a few friends over, when I witnessed one of the kids murder a boy in our home. I was terrified to say anything.

They left the boys body in our living room. The next day was trash day. My sister was trying to bag up the boys body, so that the trash men could just take him away. Everytime she tried to tie the bag, his hands would poke through the top of the bag revealing the fact that there was a dead human in the bad.

My sister called me to her aide. I was so scared, and sad. I tried to reposition his body so that no one would see what the bag held. Every time I tried to close the bag his hands would show. I kept thinking "he is begging for help."

Finally, I gathered my strength and told my sister, "this can't be done, and I am calling 911."

I dialed the number and the operator answered..."911, how can we help."

My voice cracked..."My sister murdered a boy, and he is dead in my living room."

The lady on the other end of the phone screamed and the line went dead. The next thing I know, there is police and medical people swarming my home. The people brushed passed me, and rushed towards the boy. Daddy and mom showed up just behind those people. Their eyes were filled with disbelief, and shock. I was alone sitting on the front steps of our home. Daddy came outside to sit next to me, and I got up and walked away. He followed me, his words trying to catch up to my ears. "You did the right thing Karri, no matter how hard it was to do."

The only thing I could think of was I am just as guilty as they are. I did nothing then, said nothing afterwards, and I actually tried to help her dump the body off in the trash.

I can still see his hands.

The news and such swarmed me, wanting me to be the hero. In my heart of hearts I was just as bad as they were. I turned my sister in, but to me I should have stopped everything before it started.

I know it was a dream, yet I touched a dead boys hands, and still remember what that felt like.

I guess I am living in a prison I created for myself.

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