“Pinky….”the voice calls again.
“Get up girl…” somebody..probably that voice-owner tickles my tummy.
“Open your eyes, sweetie. See its morning. Pinky,” It’s mama’s voice that makes me feel happy and sad, both at the same time. I become happy to wake up from the scary dream. I should not call it a nightmare, though. I shows me freedom, so it is saddening also.
Unlike the dream, there is no suffocation, no darkness, no congestion. The room I am laying is spacious, airy and bright. There are rays of light reaching my bed from the left window pane. Cool morning breeze is blowing and the fresh scent of roses from our patio is reaching my nostrils. “Is is the darkness inside me?” I think before cuddling mama.
“Oh mama, I had that dream again,” I complain rubbing eyes, breathing heavily. “My head’s still pounding.”
“Which dream, sweet heart?” Taking me in her arms, she asks with concerned face.
My heart’s still throbbing. I still have sweat soaking my face. Mama cleans my forehead, kisses it to say, “Don’t be afraid, darling. Don’t take it seriously. After all, it’s just over.”
She probably tries to soothe me, “But mama, why do same dream appears every day? Why does it chase me? Why can’t I see something else….why? I am so sick of it.” My eyes turn red, mouth foaming with anger.
“Did you see yourself running away…again?” Mama knew the dream.
“Yes,” I nod embracing her tightly. I can feel her heartbeat now.
“Come on, sweetie. It is normal to have recurrent dreams.”
“No, it’s not normal…It is a disease.” I argue and feel teardrops bathe my cheeks.
“Darling…” Noticing my tears, she takes me her in lap, cuddling tighter on the nearby sofa, she reveals, “listen, don’t cry, Pinky. I tell you. I also had a recurrent dream when I was as young as you are.”
“Are you serious?” I say with mouth open, eyes popping out.
“Yes, I am, dear. I used to see myself flying on the sky, every day.” She reflects back. I can see her eyes cherish old times.”Every night…I had that dream.” She lays emphasis on time.
“Oh…then….did they stop?” Putting my hands on mouth.
“They ceased to bother me when I grew up,” she informs. “So, don’t worry, it is alright to see the same dream daily. It will soon stop,” Running her fingers through my hair, mama tries to calm me. “Okay, let’s get ready for the breakfast now.”
“No,” I say and snuggle into her lap again.
Blue sky, shiny sun, long road and array of houses. One or two cars parked outside the street. Dusty air and brownish ground. A group of teenage boys play cricket in the street.
“Out….out…out, you are out Sarfrazy.” The bowling team shouts. They are all red and drenched with sweat.
“Not out…not out,” the umpire disagrees.
“He is out,” the bowler screams.
“He is not,” the umpire shouts back.
“No, he is. He is your brother does not mean you cheat.” The bowler argues.
“No, he is out, Ammar is right.” Bowler teams gathers around the Umpire.
“Not at all. I am the umpire. I will decide.” The umpire shrugs his shoulders.
“He is. It is clear that Sarfraz is out. The ball hit the wicket, here. We all saw that.” Ammar points to the wicket.
“No. He is not out,” the umpire is not convinced.
“Cheater…cheater…cheater…..I give up. I would never play with you again. Neither my team, nor I,” Ammar throws his ball, kicks the wicket and leaves the place. He is all red with anger.