She’s dead. She really is. She’s not at school, she’s not with her friends, or at work, or in her room. She’s dead.
If I think that too hard, it seems fake. “No, I just thought that, it’s not true of course.”
But it is true. I’m quite literally living in my worst nightmare.
Jillian was always very interested in my dreams, we talked about our dreams a lot together. We shared a room growing up, so sharing dreams was easy. I’ve had two dreams in which my sister was dead. I told her about them, and she was amused but I could tell there was something deeper going on. She was scared. They stuck with her, she asked my several times about them. I never said that much; I didn’t like talking about it, how that situation felt, even if it was only a dream. The strange thing was that in the second one, it was as if I was the only one that knew she was dead. No one else realized. Of course that’s not how it is, but the feeling of desperation that was present in that dream is eerily familiar. It’s like I’m silenced, more now than ever before. I can write, but I can’t speak and the writing isn’t enough. It doesn’t say what I want it to, whatever that is…
Title: Portrait de Marie (Portrait of Marie) - Oil and graphite on canvas, 23 1/2 by 28 1/2 inches © 2012 Neal Turner
(via oxane)
