TBPA summer edition gold medalist 2016.
Alistair Flynn is a walking anxiety attack/accident waiting to happen.
Ridden by nightmares and peer pressure of being the jock of the block, his life takes a confusing turn when a hazel-eyed boy invites him...
The room is scattered with carcasses of decomposing plant pieces. I scan the stuffy room, black mold scraped off and dusting the dead plant pieces. The windows are smeared in dust, hindering any vision to go through.
I have no idea where I am.
A large shadow casts over my body, contracting me. I gulp, watching the shadow. The shadow's hand spikes out, flashing one by one of razor sharp fingernails, glistening against the grime covered wall in front of me.
I lurch forward as slow as possible, as if moving slower could make me translucent from this shadow-casting poltergeist.
I've watched far too many Tim Burton films.
The shadow stays over my, not moving one inch to gift me one freckle of light. I shut my eyes, feeling my lungs glitch into hyperventilation.
I have no idea what this thing is.
I dare to pitch my gaze over my shoulders to see a lurking poltergeist from a Tim Burton film.
The only problem is: the features.
The poltergeist has soft emerald eyes, glistening emerald patches gyrating me with every movement the poltergeist takes.
This time I run.
I run as far forward as I can as quick as my legs could swing. My stomach churns nervously to fear. The muscles in my legs burn, scraping around the bone like a cat scratching a post. It's unbearable, but bearable at the same time given if the tiniest halt I give now will make me face the poltergeist.
After the walls simultaneously ran the marathon with me, the door was finally in arm's reach.
I jab out and grab the burning obsidian knob, flaking off like dried mud. The knob slides off the door without a struggle.
The shadow casts over me again, pushing a warm breeze down my nape. I choke up on oxygen again, tugging at the remnants of the knob.
This is my dream. I can manipulate my dream, because it's solely mine.
I screw my eyes shut so tightly the back of my lids blotch in white and black star-like sequences.
This is my dream. I can manipulate it.
I reopen my eyes to a sparkling platinum doorknob perched in the debris of the previous one.
Bitch dream: 0. Alistair: 1.
I snap the doorknob down before pushing my weight into the slice of wood.
Me heart settles in my stomach when I scan my surroundings. A wasteland of plant carcasses and mashed trash. It's a replica of the previous room.
Bitch dream: 1. Alistair: –1.
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