Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2004 - 03:10

...I found myself standing in my bedroom. It was empty of all furniture. I stood near the small window that looks out across the balcony and the driveway outside. I noticed a good deal of dust on the partially opened blinds as well as on the windowsill.

Outside it was stark daylight and warm.

Then it clouded over and grew dark within mere seconds. And the interior of my bedroom had changed … my bed, desk and other bits and pieces appeared one by one. And then I appeared, laying on my bed.

I was wearing my Oscar the Grouch T-shirt and the dark grey cargo pants – the clothes I wore the night I tried to kill myself. I was laying on the bed, seemingly unconscious, my eyes closed. I stood in one corner of the bedroom looking at my other self somewhat dispassionately at first. However, I must admit, a lump formed in my throat and pity rose within me for the pale, sickly looking creature (i.e., me) laying on the bed.

Then the moment I was dreading arrived: Simon walked into the room. He stood for a moment beside the bed. He was looking down at the me which was on the bed. He didn’t seem to be aware of the other me’s presence.

“Jay…? Jay…? You awake?” he asked in his deep, soft voice.

There was no reaction from the figure on the bed. But in my dreaming mind, I knew what was going through the near-dead me’s mind: I remembered hearing Simon’s voice and remembered wanting to be able to reply, but finding I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, and I recalled the frustration that came with that discovery. And another part of me wondered why Simon wasn’t doing something to help me.

Simon had stood there for a few minutes in silence, just staring at me, a slight frown on his brow. Now he moved closer to the bed. He leaned across me and took the pillow that lay beside me. He stood up straight again, still looking down at me.

Standing in the corner of the bedroom, I felt the surge of panic racing through my body… this was not something I wanted to see, but I seemed frozen to the spot.

“Don’t do this,” I said out loud. “Please, Simon… I’m begging you… please don’t do this again…” the dreaming me cried. But, not too surprisingly, Simon didn’t hear me.

He stood so close to he bed that his legs, just below his knees, were now pressed up against the side of the mattress. He held the pillow in his hands. He let the pillow drop to just his right hand, and then raised his right leg up and across my body, across my waist, until his leg was in a semi-kneeling position. Then he moved his left leg onto the mattress so that he was now kneeling over me.

My dreaming mind became confused at this point; I seemed to be switching perspectives – one moment I felt the thoughts and sensations of the paralysed, bed-ridden me, who at this point was wondering what the hell was going on, then I was experiencing the rising horror of the ‘other’ spectator me, who knew what was coming and didn’t want to watch it but seemed unable to turn away.

The pillow was in both his hands and he laid it across my face, gently at first, and then with more pressure. He relaxed the lower part of his body, thus sitting on my abdomen/waistline, while pushing the pillow harder and harder against my face.

The spectator me stood in the corner, begging him to stop. Then I changed my pleas to: “I don’t want to see this! I don’t want to see this! Make it stop, please make it stop! Someone, please help me for God’s sake!”

Standing there, watching Simon smother ‘me’, I saw my own legs begin to jerk and twitch… I knew that the other me was now on the verge of – thankfully – blacking out, so I figured that this must all come to an end soon.

When my body stopped moving, Simon was still pushing the pillow into my face, grunting a little with the effort. Then he sat back, his shoulders relaxing. He placed the pillow down on the bed, to my left. He didn’t move for a moment or two… and then he did something completely unexpected and utterly disgusting.

He leaned over to me and kissed me, on the cheek I think and whispered something that I could not hear into my left ear….

The spectator me was in tears by this point, but also very confused…

“What? What did you say…?” I asked, stepping closer to the two figures on the bed. But it was too late – the bedroom was growing dark all around me; the walls seemed to become insubstantial, changing into blackness and the figures on the bed and the bed itself receded into the distance and before I knew it I was awake in my bed, tears on my face...

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