Reaper Society

Chapter 1: Typical

It's hell. I'm sure of it.

The same ghoulish nightmare's been plaguing me for months now. The first thing that hits me is the smell. Rotting and unwashed skin, like that pungent odder from a shelter I stayed at when I was a kid. Stomach-curdling screams that leave me twitching in terror, they come loud and fast from every direction. Nowhere and everywhere. Then, the worst part: flat, unholy eyes inches from mine.

All I see are those soulless eyes, dead looking - like a shark's.

Empty.

Soulless.

And finally, the pain. All over my skin, searing agony. Worse than when I burned my hand on the space heater in my rundown apartment. Like someone's doused my bones in frying oil. I combust into flames of white-hot fire. The smoke and smell of my charring, bubbling flesh choking me.

But I can't move.

I can't cry out.

Can't beg for it to end.

I'm just there.

And then I'm not.

My eyes flash open, light from the open window hitting me full in the face. And it's the best feeling in the world. Relief washes over me, engulfs my still-prickling skin, and has me falling back onto the thin mattress beneath me. Gasps of my own sobs are the only sound to be heard for a few minutes. Then the city's gentle bustle trickles into place in the background. Blessed balm to my fear.

"Just a dream, Nia." I remind myself, like I've been doing every morning since I first started have it. "Freaking nightmare." I breathe, my voice rougher with the lie. I know it's not a nightmare. No nightmare could ever be so vivid. So lucid. It's just not possible. I swallow and force myself to sit up again, slower this time. And like every morning, I wipe my eyes dry, smooth my wild bedhead, and climb off the creaky bed. I pad across the small room to the open doorway leading into the six-by-six bathroom.

Moving mechanically, muscles stiff from god knows what, I turn on the shower and pull the curtain closed behind me. I don't even bother with removing my t-shirt before stepping under the cold spray that bursts from the showerhead. Biting, icy January water chases away the last bits of the nightmare from my skin. I let out a hiss, not allowing myself to jump away from the water as steam from my skin rises around me.

It hurts, yeah, but it's nothing compared to the pain from the nightmare. I let out a sigh and press my forehead against the cracked tile. When the water has thoroughly numbed me, I peel off my clothes and scrub at my skin. It's my latest ritual. My very own coping mechanism. I hum tunelessly to myself, rinsing off before stepping out of the stall and wrapping myself in a threadbare towel.

I move to the other corner of the tiny bathroom and begin to get ready for the day. I brush my teeth, comb my hair, and braid the mess of midnight black all the way down to the middle of my back. Glancing up at my reflection in the mirror, I try not to flinch at the new level of darkness under my brown eyes. I grab my concealer, dabbing a bit of the stuff under my eyes before smoothing the clumpy, probably borderline-expired makeup into place. I really wish I could afford the finer things in life, but right now, with my minimum-wage job at the local grocery mart, this crummy place is it.

I walk back into the main part of my apartment, my bed is pushed into the corner of the room, rickety metal-and-rust frame slightly sagging. My sheets are strewn across the thing haphazardly, giving away my sleepless night. And not the good kind.

I shuffle over to the closet, a thin chevron-patterned blanket covers the spot where the door would be. I brush past the tattered material and start to dress inside the little room. A fresh tank, the color between blue and purple, clean, greyish jeans, and a pair of mismatched socks. One a soft yellow, the other a muted green. Close enough. I pull my shoes on and go back into my room, then out the opened door to the main part of the room.