Write a story about astral projecting into the room of your sleeping enemy. A psychopath crawls through the window and is skulking toward the bed. You have the ability to stop the violence, should you choose, by scaring the shit out of the perp, or you decide to simply observe and taste the sweet wine of revenge. But, you know it comes with a cost: Your conscience. Does this person really deserve death, or close, or will your intervention put you at peace with the past?

The Forgotten

This man is not going to be happy when he wakes up.

The last tethers of half sleep had slipped away, leaving me fully aware that I was dreaming. Lucidity in dreams seems a devilish trick. My clarity of mind was immediately at war with the impossibility of my situation. The room came into focus.

Shouldn’t I be awake by now?

I hadn’t lucid dreamed since childhood. Floating past my yelling parents on a cloudy pillow destined for an open window. A false fantasy I had multiple nights a week, but still one of my favorite memories. This felt far more intentional. I could almost feel a heavy hand on my shoulder rooting me to the floor. I was at the foot of a large bed, it’s weary occupant I did not recognize. The man slept heavily.

Someone else is here.

Had I always known we were not alone? In a dream, facts feel remembered rather than discovered. A second man was creeping through the window, cat-like movement betraying evil intent. I opened my mouth in warning. A toilet flushed. The bathroom door opened. I noticed the extra set of pillows. I remembered there was a third involved in this situation. A woman screamed, the situation before me entered its third act. I turned to the newcomer. I remembered her.

Mom?

I had not seen her in decades. She looked old. Abandonment had rotted her place in my heart. She did it for some piece-of-shit home-wrecking mystery man according to my father. I stared at the man in bed, as he was startled in slow motion. No longer mysterious, my hate found a foothold in every laugh line on his face. I remembered shouting at the invader. A memory flashed of terror on his face as he jumped back through the window. I remembered turning to my mom and forcing her to look at the pictures of my dad right before the tumor staked claim to his liver. I remembered it all, and then I forgot it. I held my tongue. I knew a muzzle flashed three times. I knew silence followed. The stained carpet at my feet burned itself to my memory.

Forgive me Dad.

I awoke in tears. Guilt turned morning hunger into nausea. I knew it was foolish, but I still decided on staying away from the news for a while.