Optimistically Cynical: A Short Story Compilation- 1

A NIGHTMARISH SIGHT

"I can't unsee that!" I scream as I drop the salad bowl in my hand, sink to my knees and plunge my head into my hands. But my eyes refuse to look away and they peer through the cracks of my fingers at the spectacle that remains no matter how many times I try to make it go away.

"Are you alright?!" a voice shouts and I could swear the words are rising from the floorboards, but I find I can't respond. "Is everything alright?!" it further queries, but I still couldn't raise my voice. "Please answer me! Can you-" All audibility stops in that moment. I can hear nothing beyond the beat of my increasing heart rate.

I continue to gaze at the scene that meets my eyes, but I'm able to avert them long enough to cast them to the floor where I find the fragmented pieces of bowl scattered all over and I can't help but draw a parallel to them and my fractured psyche.

And just as I am about to slip into a spiral that is sure to drag me into the depths, when a hand catches hold of me and draws me back to what little sanity has survived the trauma. I'm lifted from my place and led away from ground zero to a nearby couch, where my better half sits in a nearby chair and holds my hand with a gentle touch.

"Now," the possessor of the voice from before, speaks to me with a steady timbre. "Tell me, what's wrong?"

I gaze into the emerald green eyes which somehow gives my consciousness an anchor to keep myself grounded. My mind puts itself together but still cannot find the pathway to my mouth and so the horror remains locked inside my brain where it plays on a continuous loop.

But did I really want to share? Did I really want to relay the image burned into my very soul? Was it even possible to put words to the feelings that tore me up from the inside?

My mouth cracks open and I start to speak, but my mind is racing at a mile a minute and I'm not sure my tongue is able to keep up. I try to say that I had seen myself sitting in a high back, plush chair, with a sleeve rolled up, a rubber tube tied around one bicep and a hypodermic needle sticking out of a bulging vein.

My head was stretched upward to an unnatural degree exposing every muscle of my neck as they were near to bursting through the flimsy skin that was stretched to the breaking point. My hands were white knuckled around the arms of the chair, with my fingers driven deep into the upholstery.

All the while, a bump ran through my veins eviscerating every inch it traveled with jagged, yellow teeth and drinking up all my blood, till there was nothing left for me.

But beyond the gore, beyond the depiction of extreme physical pain, was the idea that this might not be a simple delusion or hallucination, but a prophetic warning which may be impossible to avoid.

I can't be sure what I said exactly, but I could see the worry etched into the face of the only person I have ever truly loved. And though my significant other tries to hide it, the telltale signs keep creeping to the surface.

My mouth keeps jabbering on, even though I can't hear it, nor can I perceive the words that I am using. But that all stops when my beloved launches into my arms and holds me close as we both weep.

I can't be sure how long we remained locked in each others embrace, but it was long enough for my mind to rise above the emotional monsoon and drift out of the room and back to the vision. I try to pull it back, but it just keeps right on going, as though it needs to see just one more time. And there was nothing I can do about it.