The Intense Nightmare

A few days ago I had The Intense Nightmare. I'm not calling it a dream because a dream implies happy things like Care Bears and picnics and usually does not involve criminal activity and high stress levels.

In my nightmare, I was living in a small white house with a screened-in porch on the side. I came home from somewhere and realized that someone had broken into my house. The screen had been ripped, the lock was dismantled, and the door had been partially removed. I freaked and called 911--where someone actually put me on hold (That makes me feel safe. "You're being held hostage at gunpoint? Oops, I have another call. One sec.")

At this point, I wake up, actually scared. Not like in the movies when you bolt upright in a cold sweat, but let's just say that my heart was beating considerably faster. I looked at the clock. 6:21. I had nine minutes until my obnoxious alarm clock would curse at me.

I put my head down, close my eyes, and right as I start drifting off, I hear WAAAAAAAWAAAAAAWAAAAAWHOOOOOPAHHHEEEHHHHH. And then I bolt upright, just like in the movies. I'm wide-awake. Just imagine a ridiculously loud whooping siren blasting full-force throughout your house at 6 a.m. and you get the idea. It took me 2.3 seconds to realize that it's our house alarm and perfect timing, right? Because I just didn't have a nightmare about my house getting robbed or anything.

Over the pounding of my heart, I hear the commotion downstairs and soon realize that one of my sisters accidentally set it off. At this point, all chances of going back to sleep are lost.

THEN (as if this couldn't get any better/creepier), as I'm recounting The Intense Nightmare to my parents some forty-five minutes later in the kitchen, the three of us hear the garage door open without any warning. No one is near the garage. No one touched the remote. We all give each other a look. But it just opened, right in the middle of my story.

And on that note, good night.