The Wicked Existence of Lillian Lennox

1. Chapter One - Nightmares

Heart racing, palms sweating, I ran to my mom, who lay on the ground in a pool of her own blood. My mind reeled and an agonizing cry escaped me as I fell to my knees, shaking her body. But there was no response, my moms pale face just started up at the ceiling in shock, her eyes flat, unmoving. The sound of footsteps pulled my gaze away, and I froze upon looking up. My father stood there, his face contorted beyond recognition. He looked manic and in his hands was a gun, grotesque in its shiny appearance, looming over it's victim. Paralyzed I stared, trying to find a glimpse of the man who had raised me, in the monster that stood before me. I was pulled from my stupor when I heard her voice. My head snapped down, eyes wildly raking over the limp body on my mother, but it was unmoving and the voice seemed to be in my mind. The message however, was clear. Run Lillian, she screamed urgently, and I knew my life depended on it. I moved automatically, whirled around and was out the door before my mind caught up with my physical body, which seemed like separate entities. My mind was reeling in anguish, while my body was in flight mode, demanding I survive. I almost fell down the stairs as I left my childhood home behind, but it didn't matter. The need to escape compelled me, terrified me, pushing my shaking legs to move. A tortured sob left my lips, my chest burning as I ran, feet pounding against the pavement, feeling I couldn't possible get far enough away from the horror I had seen. The dismal neighbourhood I had grown up in, past by in a frantic blur. All I could do, all I could think, was run, run, run... The word echoing in my mind. Tears streamed down my cheeks and another vicious sob ripped through me, causing my whole body to shudder and collapse painfully. My stomach dropped, nausea building in my throat, as I stared at the blood on my shaking hands. My mothers blood. My whole body seemed to convulse, the gruesome images etched into my mind, leaving me withering on the street. I took a rasping breath, my hands against the rough ground, my mind shouting that I needed to run further. But a compulsive terror had gripped my very soul, and no amount of will could force me to move. It felt like my life was crumbling, and I was crumbling with it, right there, on the ground. Suddenly a second gunshot went off in the distance and with an overwhelming finality, I knew now that nothing would ever be the same. My mind seemed to spiral at the thought and I felt my energy drain, as if disappearing into the earth on which I lay. My cheek hit the pavement but I barely noticed as the houses around me faded, and my vision tunneled. The last thing I heard was sirens in the distance, before darkness overcame me. 

I sat up, gasping for air, and clutched my throat as my mind spun from the memories of my dream. A wave of nausea overcame me as I remembered the horrendous events of that fateful night. I sprang from my bed and stumbled into the bathroom, clinging to the toilet just in time as nausea overwhelmed me, my throat burning. A moment later, I slumped onto the cold tiled bathroom floor, tears rolled down my cheeks, silent sobs shaking my thin frame. My trembling hands ran through my hair in frustration. I felt defeated and angry at the fact that eight months had already passed, yet the nightmares still plagued me. Some nights were better than others, but none were completely free of terror; none were filled with the blissful peace in which I wished I could drown and just forget.

    Slowly, I pulled myself up, holding onto the counter to steady my trembling body. The reflection in the mirror terrified me. Staring back was a girl with ghastly pale skin, hollow cheeks, and chapped lips. My usually vivid green eyes were now a murky sullen hue, accompanied by dark circles underneath, indicating my continuous lack of sleep. Long curly blonde hair reached my waist, but it was thin and stringy compared to what it used to be. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a deep breath and trying to regain composure. Appearance isn't important, I reminded myself and splashed cool water on my face, the icy feeling pulling me back to the present.

    I returned to bed, my body feeling heavy with exhaustion. The alarm clock read 4:33am. I let out an irritated sigh, and pulled the covers tightly around me. For once, I just wanted to sleep peacefully through the night. But I was starting to wonder if I would ever regain the simple pleasure of a dreamless sleep. I shifted under my blanket, trying to calm my agitated mind. But every time my eyes closed, shivers coursed through my body, nightmares threatening to invade. The sun was rising outside the window it was almost six in the morning by the time I finally fell asleep.