A/N: this is going to be a bit different because no one is actually going to die.
⚠️ TW: description of violence (non graphic)
Description of blood, wounds (non graphic) ⚠️
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It's not real, it's not real, it's not real.
The words repeated over and over in my clouded mind. A distant mantra that sounds in my ears as my focus drifts away from the present. Strong hands drag me deep into the blinding prison of haunting illusion.
Not real, not real, not real.
Through the swirling fog of half built thoughts, eerie figures loom ahead of me, and fear washes over me like icy water, bringing the sharp, silencing touch of building dread as it dawns on me just who these people are.
Real, real, real.
My breath catches as all sense of reality vanishes, leaving me confused yet captivated by the dreadful scene laying before me, tauntingly threatening to play out as I stand frozen, held hostage in my own mind.
Too real, too real, too real.
As if triggered by a switch the scene jolts into action. That terrible figure creeping up on an unsuspecting boy. No matter how much I will myself to intervene, my feet stay rooted to the ground and I'm forced to watch from the sides as, with a sinister smirk a glinting blade is plunged into the boys throat. A second blade is thrust through his chest and he falls heavily to the ground, piercing screams echoing through my ears, accompanied by the malicious cackle of the disappearing attacker.
It's too real, it's too real, it's too real.
Being freed by the disappearance of the shadowy figure, I lurch forward suddenly, stumbling to the boys side, wishing agonisingly that he hasn't yet breathed his final breath, that maybe I can stop this horrific situation from claiming his life. As I reach for him, my pale hands shakily moving to cover his gaping wounds, billowing smoke surrounds me, forcing itself into my mouth, consuming my burning lungs.
Never real, never real, never real.
It all goes black and suddenly I'm back at home, drenched in cold sweat, clutching my aching chest and gasping loudly as wretched sobs rip from my gaping mouth. As the realisation of what just happened dawns on me, I frantically search my neck for the necklace that lies agains my heaving chest. Frantic fingers meet cold metal keys and my heart slows pace a little. He's safe, he has to be, I saw him less than five hours ago, inside his house, where he must still be because it would be insanity to leave at this hour of night.
Fresh tears pool in my eyes and threaten to fall over the stinging brims of my tired eyes as I recall just how vivid the thoughts had seemed, how real the sticky blood had felt agains my clammy hands, how the sharp breathing had filled my ringing ears, how it had all seemed like a waking nightmare, laying parallel to the present.
It wasn't real, it couldn't have been, it was merely a frightening scenario created by an overtired mind. The ring being twisted repeatedly on my finger, the keys hitting against my shaking chest and the two paintings peering down from wall all showed signs of the life I was almost certain hadn't yet been lost.
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A/N: this was my attempt at writing what intrusive thoughts can feel like, it wasn't the best and I don't like the ending but oh well.
YOU ARE READING
Happiness is the saddest illusion
General FictionEveryone leaves eventually. It's just hard to come to terms with it sometimes. This will be a book of one shots involving people dying. That's it. Don't read if it's going to be triggering. *none of the art used is mine*
