So I wrote this in my Fantasy Fiction class for journals, I got an A on it. Now it had dates on it, but I took those off.
ENJOY!!! :)
It always starts with a scream, to know you have woken from a nightmare. Nightmares didn’t get too me very easily, until last night. The day before, my grandfather, who lives with my small family told me a bedtime story. We both kept this to ourselves, so that we wouldn’t get into trouble by my parents. Sitting up in my twin-sized bed, i look around seeing only darkness. Knowing very well that I should be able to see by now. Rubbing my eyes harshly then blinking a few times, I glance around once again and everything only got darker. -SCREECH- The old door door, opens creaking, slowly then slams against the wall. Shivers run up my spin. Is it possible for the dark to get darker?
Some days you just can’t get rid of a prickling feeling of awe and terror. Awe because you find something interesting or cool and terror because you realize you are the one in danger. The thing terrorizing me now is the fact that my room is a black void and you can hear the faint sounds of creaking from the door as it swinging little by little. Closing my grey eyes, I exhale and inhale, attempting to calm myself. Maybe if I scream someone will hear me. Opening my eyes like a newborn baby, I let out a scream. Only being answered by nothing, not even an echo.
I sure hope this a nightmare. Of course it is, maybe if I just pinch myself I will wake up. I don’t believe it though. Quietly, and sneaking I grab the flashlight from underneath my pillow; flicking it on the light sinks into my bed. Breath, I remind myself. Stepping out of bed, slowly descending my feet onto the floor, I squeak as something wet covers my toes. Shining the flashlight down, the light doesn’t reflect but it does show me, that there is water.
Should mirrors bleed? Naturally, no. Watching the mirrored water, blood vines, kind of like blood vessels, connect over the middle where my face should be. Then, those vines starting transforming into waves of water, which turn into images or a creation of a campsite, river.
“In here. No one can scream.” Spinning around looking for the mysterious person speaking. “Over here.” Looking straight in front of me, I stare at myself. A hand coated in red reaches out and yanks me forward. Closing my eyes then finally reopening, I study the path before me.
The path before me looks exactly the one, I used to plan on when I was little. My friends and I would play on the river bank; as our parents hung about the fire place. The river was beautiful just as it was that day, that was until the incident. Everything happened so fast, Luke and I were chasing each other and he slid on the mud tumbling into the fast moving river. I stared at him, watching him drown. Fear stuck me in place. Parents were jumping in and swimming out to him. By the time they got him out of the water, he was pale and lifeless. After that I no longer went swimming. The past also following, moving with me.
“What do you mean, ‘Moving.’” I ask nobody in particular.
I answer my own question: most people are swimming during the summer, but what happened to Luke, had stopped me everytime. Everybody just shrugged and went to play. Leaving me alone.
You know what really, scares me? Is, that I could have saved his life, risking my own though. Shaking my head, tears falling and gurgled screams replaying forever in my brain. NO, I couldn’t have. I was 6, I couldn’t have.
“Fear and Denial are one in the same.” I hear someone echo.
“Shhh.. you’re being watched.” A quiet, dark voice whispers.
Looking forward again, a different scene morphs into play. 3 years after Luke’s incident I had met Mary Jones, her and I became great friends and I day we were playing in the park with a group of other kids. It was the same year my mom had introduced me to CPR, because I was in love with the idea of being a doctor. Mary was dared to swallow a rock of the leaders choice, he chose a tiny pebble. Mary and I knew better but pride was what made her do it. We all erupted into cheers when we heard the satisfying gulp. When she started to whimper and clutch her throat, I stared at her amused. It looked like she was acting than one the kids pointed out that she was turning blue, then purple. We all sat there horrified, confused of what to do. She looked at me, knowing that I did know. She died of suffocation and was escorted to the hospital then to a coroner. Wiping tears from my eyes the scene changes again.
Do you hear strange music? The music wasn’t strange entirely. Mary and Lucas were so into the eerie, death type music. When it got turned on or played, I was once again reminded of dread and regret. Why am I being tortured?
Drip, Drip, Drip. Glancing around, I follow the sound. All around me rain falls; one droplet slides onto my lips, habits I lick my lips. Rain has a different salty taste then these ones do. They taste like….. Tear Drops… The Teardrops fall harder and harder, the area spinning, new things pop up and replace old objects. Covering my eyes, to avoid getting dizzy again. ‘You could have saved me!, You could have saved us!, Why didn’t you help us?!’ Those words, sentences written all over the yellow, grimy walls. My heart ramming against my breastbone/ ribs.
Wait.. I think they are trying to tell me something. They are telling me to feel guilty. Guilty for everything, but do they not realize I do?
Its like a long walk to nowhere. Stepping forward, I walk along the blood path, it transforms into a river then to playground wood chips. The movies of each death I have witness or caused play over and over, on repeat. I start to scream,confused, terrified and horrified. A big slap to the cheek, stops the screaming but starting the whimpering.
“What did I say about letting fear run in your brain?” An image dad yells.
Reaching out to him, the image jostles; turning into pixelated dots.
“No don’t go!” I yell after it.
The room changes again, only this time it is a hardware store.
“Quick! Lets hide behind the chainsaws!” A voice vaguely like mine whispers into my ear.
They grab my hand and we duck behind a rack or chainsaws. A big, blood covered aproned man, saunters grunting into the room. A butcher knife in his arms.
And the sound faded away.
