Be With Me (dnf)

Chapter 12

Air. Humid air, small crackling noises, there was a fire nearby. Distant grunting noises. Yells, loud yelling. Dark, the sun had set a long time ago. Trees, a vast forest covered most of the ground; yet the yelling was clear, the noises were very clear.

Smoke appearing through the treetops, the yelling grew louder. A dog barked loudly, while people chanted. Sweat was running down Clay's forehead, he walked slowly; trying not to make too much noise.

The fire produced a large light in the center of a grass patch. Trees surrounded the area, some sticks scattered near the center. People, tons of them. Ranging from teenagers to grown adults. Chanting, some holding sticks lit on fire in their hands. Some stepped in what seemed like dirt.

The fire crackled loudly, the heat had Clay covered with sweat, considering he was wearing a thick sweatshirt and jeans. The men had been yelling and chanting for a couple minutes now. The fire crackled again. Clay felt sick to the stomach. He pushed through a couple branches to see what was happening clearly.

Gunshots, multiple of them. The darkness caused from the sunset made it hard for Clay to see where they were coming from. Some gunshots hit the floor, confusing Clay. He widened his eyes before running up to the area, as close as he could.

It wasn't grass, it wasn't dirt. They weren't just stepping and shooting the ground. They were-

-

Dream inhaled sharply, sitting up on the bed rapidly. Beads of sweat covered his face, his clothes were incredibly uncomfortable; even though it's what he normally wears to bed. He covered his eyes, he sat up fully. He could feel tears coming to his eyes, daring to fall down.

It was hot, humid air filling the room. The air conditioner wasn't working. It was common for George's house, but tonight it felt different. Dream rubbed his eyes, and looked towards the clock on the nightstand; 2:43am. Dream looked up and down, trying to calm himself. It felt horrible, he couldn't think. He couldn't move. He closed his eyes and groaned into his hands. He got up, and got out of the bed.

The faces of the men in the dream were becoming more and more clear. Their eyes, if there was a way to describe them as violent. It seemed like their empathy was gone. The same people who preach to be nice, love each other. The same people standing there at the scene, cheering; acting like it was a holiday.

To them it might as well be a holiday. The cops, nowhere in sight. Chanting, grunting, the only noises in his head; the only thing Dream could hear. The crackling, the yelling. They were in pain; they couldn't breath. They were dying. Dream wished he could go back, and do something. Help them, but he couldn't.

He didn't know if he even wanted to. Of course he did, but did he want to see that again. It felt horrible, watching it happen in front of him, and being able to do nothing. He walked to the kitchen, and sat down. He cried, and cried. He wanted to throw up; punch a wall, shoot a mirror.

He wanted to do everything, and nothing at the same time. He sobbed into his hands, trying to muffle the noises. The sobbing, the crying; it quieted the chanting and yelling. It silenced the grunting. He sat down in a chair, the one George's father used. It was breaking down, most of the fabric that covered it was either ripped or covered in blood.

The fire grew larger once they threw them in there. They were helpless, they were gone; dead, deceased. It felt so real, yet so fake; too fake. A part of Dream's mind said otherwise. It was going to be real, it is real; accept it. Dream didn't, he couldn't.

He heard a loud noise, a glass had fallen on the ground, shattering; glass flying around the living room. He flinched as the glass shards landed on the table next to him. The tv in front of him was still going; they never had turned it off after the fight.

The fight wasn't even that bad, at least not as bad as what happened to them in the dream. Dream. It didn't happen to them, but something; someone, it was coming. As if a clock counted down their time, a number; a message, something. It was coming, nearing them.

Nearing both of them, but the chanting, and the grunting, and the yelling continued. It played on loop in Dream's head. He took a glass of water from a nearby chair and drank from it. He swallowed the water before throwing up on the table in front of him.

The yelling, yelling in fear; yelling in pain. The memory of walking up to them, watching them try to grab onto something, anything. Yet it never happened, they just kept yelling and screaming, writhing in pain as it continued and continued. It twisted Dream's stomach, making him want to throw up again.

The kicks and punches hit them in the face and stomach, leaving them bruised and slowly dying. It was painful; that was clear. It hurt, it hurt for Dream. It hurt knowing he couldn't do anything. The fire grew as they kicked them into it. The yelling increased, as well as the chanting. It was nearing 5am.

How the fuck have I been here for 2 hours?

He adjusted himself on the chair, the sun slowly creeping in from the window. He looked into the glass of water, it looked poisonous. He threw it outside, flinching again as it shattered in the backyard. The pain they felt, Dream felt it too. It was coursing through his body, almost like he was in the fire. Tears reappeared at his eyes, slowly falling down his face.

It never ended, it never disappeared. It stayed, they stayed; not that they could do much. Tied up and covered in oil; they yelped as the men slowly kicked him into the campfire. The fire reached a high height, reaching the height of some of the trees. Smoke emitting from the forest, some going into the men's face.

The men cheered and chanted, smiling like it was the 4th of July. Some smiled in joy, others smiled watching them slowly burn up, their clothes being teared apart completely.

They yelled, and yelled. They didn't stop yelling, they never did. The dream replayed through Clay's head. It burned, it stung, it immobilized him. He sat in the chair, looking at nothing; his gaze wandering throughout the house, he rubbed his eyes, trying to get it out.

He stood up again, and headed to the bed; punching the nearby wall before slowly opening the door, cringing at the creaking noise it emitted. He walked into the room, his footsteps creating loud noises as he made it to the bed. He sat there, and laid down, pretending to sleep.

He turned his head to face George, and closed his eyes. George's window allowed the light from the sun to enter. It pierced Dream's eyes, he moved forward, hiding his face in George's shoulder. He placed his arm around George, and pulled him in tightly; as close as possible. He sighed before quickly falling asleep.

Life was short, and there was no time; at least for them.