Waking Dreams

I started having walking dreams when I was about seven or so.  My sister always woke up my dad when I was walking around the house crying.  I always was confused on whether or not what I was dreaming was real or not.  All the dreams were real to me, but everyone always told me they weren’t.  When I told my parents what I was dreaming about, what I was getting in my dream, what I was doing, it was so vivid.  How could it have been a dream? 

I remember tasting the ice cream.  I remember how the sand and ocean felt between my toes.  Just because I lived in rural Kansas didn’t mean these dreams were just dreams.  Or were they?  As I got older, I was having a harder time determining what was a dream and what was real life.  I felt objects, I felt heat and cold, I tasted, I saw.  I even had conversations I would remember later, but half the time I woke up in my bed.   

The worst experience I had was the night my sister was murdered.  I have never told anyone about what I had seen that night or who I had seen.  Who would believe me anyway?  Besides, I didn’t know if what I had dreamed was real or if I had actually killed her.