Heartbroken

Chapter 12: Allegra

A sad voice sang in the distance, her mournful song carrying a mournful message. It was black everywhere, and the darkness makes way for an elderly ladies face. But she was different from the grandma that Allegra knew. Her eyes had changed from a kind green to the angry red of a ruby. Her mouth moved, but the eerie singing didn't match with her lips. It felt like she was staring deep into Allegras soul, and instead of feeling the love she usually felt from those familiar eyes, a harsh feeling of fear washed over her sleeping form. A cold sweat broke out on Allegras forehead and her body shivered. The song continued on, its familiar lyrics crawling down her spine like a snake curling around a branch.

I've heard of a place where the sky's tinted red,

With the blood of the dead...

"The Bloodstone..." the disembodied voice whispered, sending another chill across Allegra's neck. The head disappeared, and another image took its place: her mother, sprawled on the floor, a limp hand cut by shards of glass, the shattered cup resting on the floor. Her eyes were wide open, staring at something that wasn't there. But even in the confines of death her eyes moved. Allegras heart burned as she stared into the empty gaze of her mother. Her mouth spoke.

"How could you do this?" it whispered. Her mother's lips were cracked, her hand still cut and bleeding slowly. Allegra backed away. "How could you do this?" the whisper escalated into a scream, and her eyes were no longer her own. Her mother disappeared, but her sister again replaced the image, lying on the ground in the same way. But this time, her eyes didn't move, and her mouth didn't speak. She wasn't bleeding, but Allegra had no doubt that she was dead. When she tried, she could not reach her. When she screamed, nobody heard.

            My eyes opened slowly despite the horror of my nightmare. I was well aware of the fact that I had sweat running in streaks down my face and back. Breathing deeply, I mopped the sweat with my shirt, swinging my legs off the bed and dressing myself. I woke Mercy after I had calmed down, though my heart still pounded and my head hurt. I sat on the bed and watched Mercy, my heart chilled as I remembered her white face and blank stare. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't get the image out of my head. It's not as easy as it sounds to walk out of your mind and into reality, especially when both prospects are equally as terrifying.

My anxiety rested threateningly on the edge of my conscience, and my unwarranted fear lurked not far beyond. I shoved my hands into my armpits as we walked out the door, pulling out the squeak until it shut, a soft click.

I wish I could do that with my memories: lock them behind a door and only look at them when I choose. But you can't postpone the inevitable.

I tightened the straps to my backpack, needing to fidget with something. I didn't notice Mercy when she looked back at me, a note of concern clear on her face. I looked to the road, afraid. Afraid of what was happening to me. Why would I be dreaming about these kinds of things? Sure, I've had nightmares since I witnessed my mother's death, but these nightmares were... different. They loomed over me, haunting every step and every breath, closing my throat and stinging my eyes no matter what I did to forget them. They upset my stomach, causing my mind to crash and my body along with it. I've fainted countless times because of anxiety alone, but there's no doubt that my nightmares have everything to do with it.

I hugged my arms to my chest and rolled my head, the amount of sleep I had inefficient to support my body. A rumble awoke inside me, and I glanced at my stomach. It was not happy with me. I ignored it.