Collection of Tales

The Dreaming

Oh god, there's something behind me. I can hear it, thrashing about the reeds as it chases my fleeter physique, crashing through the foliage. My stomach sinks, for the snake of fear is coiled within, just waiting to reach out and strike. But I'll get away, I have too. And while I am tired ( for my breath is coming in short gasps, and my muscles burn in protest ) I push myself harder. That bastard isn't going to catch me today. Never again.

I round the corner of the forest past, and momentarily hesitate. The moon glows softly above me, and I am thankful for it's light. The moon is showing me the way home. And I can see it - the house, ( is it really right there? ). It's merely a hill away. I'm so close. And then I trip.

I bite back my scream of frustration as I loose my sense of inertia, toppling forward, towards the muddied ground. A biting pain is brought to life beneath the tendons of my left knee, further complicating my problem. The towering trees, once so comforting in my eyes now look as if they were leering at me, their branches twisted into a cruel sneer. The soft dirt turns hard and rocky beneath my scraped hands and knees, and moving even an inch feels as if I'm piercing my lungs.

But the footfalls, the footfalls are right behind me. Now more panicked than calm, I force myself upright, teetering a few steps forward until my foot catches on the outstretched paw of a rock. Once again, my face meets the rough ground, and I have no doubt there is blood clotting on my features.

I see the front of the house from where I lay. Made of logs, it's sturdy structure offers security, safety. A pang of homesickness bites it's way through my veins as I crawl weekly towards it, using the last ounces of my strength for the trip. Amazingly enough, I actually make it to the front step, and I'm just hauling my tortured body up upon it when the door opens. I tilt my head back, the hope alight in my eyes as I see the woman. With flow silver hair tied back, and green eyes blazing with life she looks so regal, like a queen come back to life. She looks down at me, a bemused smile on her face as she speaks two words. "Go back."

My mouth is agape as I hear this - surely I must misunderstand her. This is Sanctuary, no one is turned away. "No, no, please!" I respond, my words thick and desperate. "I-I need to come in."

She shakes her head slowly, as if it is I who doesn't understand. "No, you don't." He words are harsh, clipped. "You don't belong here. Go back."

I open my mouth to cry out once again, whether in protest or anger, when a thick, meaty paw clamps down on my ankle. I twist around, a tortured cry springing from my throat as I face my nightmare. He's tall and thick, with edges so blurred it's hard for him to be in focus. It's as if every time you pinpoint your gaze on him, he slides out of it. I want to chant my mantra here, that he isn't real, that he doesn't exist. But how can I, when every fiber of my being says otherwise. The man looks down at mean, an unknown expression crossing his dark face as he regards me. "Fool," he says. "I'm your father, surely you know better to disrespect me!"

I always wake up then, soaked in sweat and chilled to the bone. Even dead, that bastard rules every moment of my life. God damn him. Turning on my side, I let my gaze settled on the scene outside the window. The grass of my mother's home is dimly lit by the light of the moon, not so luminous now that it wasn't limited by my imagination. The streets of the neighborhood are clear, and save the occasional flicker of the streetlamps, the shadows don't move. The neighborhood itself is well-off; secure and stable. But.. despite the medications, the move.. I don't feel safe.

Peeling back the sticky sheets, a glance down at my skinny carcass of a body reveals that the scars have yet to fade; the burn marks are still prominent. Even if I only lived with the man for two years, and was eight years old at the time, they aren't gone. Which asks the question - will they ever be?