“THE FIRE, ITS ON THE BRIDGE, ITS ON THE BRIDGE! GET AWAY FROM THE BRIDGE, HURRY!

DON’T
FROGET THE GOD DAMN LIGHTBULB- GET THE LIGHTBULB”

I roughly tumbled out of bed at my grandma’s ear-splitting yelling, surprisingly not for the first time. I
sighed and picked myself off the cold, hard ground and begrudgingly made my way to my
grandmothers’ bedroom. Coming out from the other side of the house, my sister Aliya, sleepily
rubbed her eyes and I assumed that she also was rudely awoken from her slumber. We both tiredly
nod at each other before lightly pushing the door to my grandmothers room.

My grandmother had been having these dreams, of the past or future I don’t know, but she would
have a restless sleep would shout some random gibberish, but it would always prominently include
fire, a bridge and a lightbulb. When Aliya or I had tried asking about it when she was awake, she
would suddenly go all mysterious and start chanting “fi-re, bri-dge, light-bulb”. It was oddly terrifying.
She would just sit and chant for a good half and hour. It scared the wits out of Aliya and I. And this
had been going on for a year now, but we never descripted anything from the unusual dreams of
hers.

With a cup of warm tea and a hug, my grandma significantly calmed down to the point where she
could go back to sleep again. Aliya bid me a sleepy goodbye and dragged herself to her bedroom
once again. As I retreated back to my own, something stirred in me. Before my sudden awakening, in
my dream, I saw a bridge on fire. Just like grandma said.

I quickly slipped back into slumber, and to my uttermost horror, I realised that I was lucid dreaming.
Which meant I knew what I was in a dream, in my dream. But I hated it as it made me feel
vulnerable, trapped and immobile, even though I knew what I was doing. But to my confusion, I was
back to the bridge on fire. The bright, Lucious flame grew and grew, eating up the weakened wooden
bridge. I stood, transfixed, watching the flame grow larger and larger. That’s until a large hand
forcefully gripped my shoulder and I harshly flinched while turning to face the victim of my anger. But
the person who did so surprised me. It was Aliya, with grandma right behind her.

I stared, shell-shocked, trying to understand what on earth was going on. But this was a dream,
anything could happen at any time. I reminded myself that there was a burning bridge behind me,
and I needed to make sure I didn’t take a step back at any cost.

“Aliya, what are you doing here?” I ask, surprised and concerned. Did I miss something?

“I was about to ask you that, what are you doing in MY dream?” She enquired, suspiciously.

I gaped at her, her dream? This was my dream, that she was not supposed to be in. Unless I imagined
her here. Which I wouldn’t, willingly of course. But I turned my attention on grandma, who was now
staring off into the fire, as if she was reading something. As I listened closely, she was chanting ‘the
lightbulb, the lightbulb’ over and over again.

“She won’t stop saying that, what the hell is the lightbulb she is talking about?” Aliya asked irritated.

I helplessly shrugged, and Aliya’s annoyed face was the last thing I saw before everything exploded.