Trigger warning: The following work explores trauma through themes of violence, sexual content, self-harm, and other potentially triggering topics. Proceed with care.
Two men at the front door were hollering at the house. They see Kenneth and me peeking through the window.
They leave. I shut all the windows to secure the house and call 911, they can’t understand why I’m calling.
Kenneth has a fire in the fireplace, so I get a jug of water to put out the fire. I come back, and the fire is already out. I turn on the shower to take a shower.
I get distracted doing other things, and the shower floods the bathroom. I turn off the shower, but there’s no more flood water.
Trespassers come back and get into the house. Now there are several of them (5-10?). They’re running around the house acting crazy, wanting to party. I hide in the bedroom and call 911.
911 asks, “Is it the guy with the pink shoes and the cane?” I look out to check, yes, it is. They say someone has already called, and I need to stay on hold. Guys won’t leave, dogs are lying on the couch sleeping, not noticing what’s going on. Kenneth is all over the place, not helping, acting drunk. I grab my gun. Threaten to shoot them if they don’t leave, and they laugh. I cock the gun and aim in between two guys to scare them. The gun has no ammo. I keep shooting and shooting, no ammo. The party continues.
Finally, I find the ammo. I shoot at the guys and miss, finally hit one, one shoots me in the knee, I think. They all rush at me. I shut myself in the bedroom. Kenneth is asleep on the bed.
I think about the dogs, I hope they don’t hurt them or take them. Men leave, I run to my car and drive away. I begin to cry hysterically. The cops finally take me off hold. I cry and ask where they’ve been, why they haven’t helped me, and tell them I had to shoot someone.
I am driving on the freeway, the sign reads Morongo (how did I get here?). I saw the white, beat-up minivan guys were driving, and they kept going.
I get off the freeway and drive home. I get home, and I dispatcher finally answers me back and says, “You’ve only been on hold for 62 minutes! Why are you complaining?”
I cry and see the white van pulling back up.
I wake up.
Feelings, scared, overwhelmed. Shaking when I wake up. Still shaking. Check my cameras. Paralyzed. So scared. As I’m lying in bed typing this, Rosie is having a dream next to me. Growling, running, shaking, moving. She does this for 10 minutes. I finally woke her gently and comforted her.
My last two nightmares have had similar premises. Usually, I am chasing the dogs, or they are somehow helping me, but the last two dogs have been asleep.
by Thalia Graves
Purple Vanilla World, 2023
Purple Vanilla World 