The Firefly

1°

I cultivated dreams of love, painting images

of glances that meet like stars in the sky,

but in the inexplicable dance of fate, I never foresaw

that only my eyes could give light to hers.

_________________

Tears lined my cheeks and a weight on my chest made it difficult to breathe.

An icy cold snaked down my spine as the chains of immobility tightened relentlessly.

A sense of helplessness devoured every thought, every attempt at movement crushed by an unknown force.

My mind was in a state of alertness, but my body was a prison, with laboured breathing eliciting only a faint wave of agony.

An elusive presence materialised from time to time at the edge of my field of vision, an evanescent figure dancing on the border between the real world and the dark dimension.

His face remained hidden in the shadows, but exuded an unmistakable aura of malevolence.

I clutched at the blanket in search of help, I parted my lips ready to scream but the words remained trapped in a throat tightened by invisible fingers. The terror increased, a storm swelling in my chest, making anguish surface in every inch of my being.

The atmosphere grew thicker and thicker, a viscous darkness that swallowed my breath and cracked my reason.

The fear became tangible, a living entity that seemed to feed on my despondency.

There was no escape, only the relentless perception of being vulnerable at the mercy of dark forces.

And then, from the shadows, eyes emerged.

Two points of malevolent light staring into my soul, a direct connection to the unknown.

They moved slowly, almost floating in the air, their intensity increasing with each beat of my heart.

They came closer, sinister and elusive, until they touched my body with a contact that burned like ice.

With a leap, I woke up.

The unbearable weight that had oppressed my chest had vanished, as had the nightmare that had consumed my mind.

My breathing was rapid, laboured, but my cheeks were now dry.

I wrung the blanket with my hands, trying to discern whether I was really awake or still trapped in a dream.

Looking around I noticed that it was morning, the warm light of the sun's rays filtering through the window, painting patterns of light on the floor.

It was the sound of the horns of cars stuck in traffic that convinced me that I was indeed awake.

The soundlessness of my recurring nightmare now seemed a distant memory.

I got out of bed, anxiety still palpable in my veins. Perhaps seeking professional help would dispel this night terror spiral.

However, the stark and concrete reality was there to remind me of my limitations.

The search for a new job had become a pressing necessity, and until I found a stable source of income, I could not afford to consult a specialist.

Matthew had his own expenses and I could not further burden his already strained budget.

As I reflected on this inclement reality, the sense of helplessness I had experienced in the nightmare still seemed to envelop me like a cold embrace.

The chains of uncertainty gripped my future as tightly as they had trapped my body in my night dream.