The Basement

Bad Dreams

I ran down the dark corridor. Heart thumping, blood racing. It was coming for me...he was coming for me. I quickened into a sprint, sensing that my pursuer was catching up. I didn't even think about looking back. I started to get short of breath. Running was getting even harder. I could see that the corridor was coming to a dead end. I was so terrified; I didn't know what to do. Just as I was about to hit the wall I felt someone shaking my shoulder. "Jess!", someone shouted, "Jess! Wake up!". I realised it was James' voice, my older brother.

I opened my eyes, emerging from my nightmare. I sat up. My face and pillow was wet from the tears I had been crying and my throat was sore. I must have been screaming and shouting again. James pulled me into a hug and rubbed my back. A night like this was becoming very familiar. I had been having horrible nightmares since Dad died, but after we moved to Cornwall ,they had become worse and more distressing. Every night I would dream about running away from someone. Some days I would scream so loud that Mom or James would have to come and calm me down and other days I would wake up in the morning on the opposite side of the room. I'd looked up dream meanings on the internet but I just tried to tell me some sort of crap about trying to run away from my problems. "Do you want me to stay with you until you fall to sleep again?", he asked in a quite soothing voice. I looked over his shoulder at the clock, it was 5.30am. "No thanks", I said wiping my tears, "I've got to get up for work in a couple of hours anyway...I'll just watch a film". I tried my best to smile at my brother, he laughed "That was the most pathetic smile I've ever seen in my life mop top", he said as he got up off the bed and headed towards the door. "Thanks shit face...sorry for waking you up again", I replied. After James had closed the door, I lay back down and stared blankly at the ceiling.

It had been two very long years since we moved to Cornwall. Don't get me wrong, life was good there, but something just didn't seem...right. I always felt like I had to watch my back, or that something bad was going to happen. My therapist said that it was a result of post dramatic stress, but I don't believe a word that comes out of her mouth.

I watched re-runs of the Simpsons until my alarm rang; it was time to go to work. When we moved over here I decided it was a chance to start to be more responsible. I managed to get a job in a shoe shop. I didn't really have to do much, just serve costumers really. The women who own it is nice enough but she can get a bit stupid at times.

Once I was washed, dressed and ready to go, I put my earphones in and got in lost in the music as I walked to the shop, thinking it was just going to be a normal day. I've never been so wrong...