Alice

chapter four

Dreams flooded Alice like a vicious tsunami. She dreamt not of sunny plains, beautiful forests, nor flowing rivers. In her nightmare, she saw herself, her eyes glowing a hungry red, with a knife in her hands. The knife was soaked in blood, and it stained her white gown. Her skin was pale, and her hands tipped with black. Then the scene changed. The halls were littered with freshly killed innocents. They laid in pools of blood, and others with their still warm guts hanging out. Other people were running away from Alice, screaming in pure terror. Alice saw herself lunge at a young maid, and stab her in the throat several times, blood gushing from the arteries and tendons and flesh broken by the blade. The floors were covered in blood and gore, limbs and bodies. Alice saw herself attack an eleven year old child, and remove his head with one swift stroke of her knife. The screams of the innocent echoed, and the blood splatters were sickening. Alice spectated her demonic self, and she saw herself lunge towards her best friend Sarah.

"Sarah! No!" Alice screamed as she abruptly awoke.

Alice scanned the room, breathing heavily, while sweat went down her back. She threw off her covers and looked at her gown, making sure it wasn't covered in blood, and looked on the floor to make sure guts and limbs were scattered about. "Oh my god," Alice said beneath her breath, staring at her trembling hands.

Sarah suddenly awoke. She heard Alice's scream; she threw off her covers and peered in her direction. She saw Alice sitting there, sweating as if she jumped in a pool, and her face was pale. "My god, Alice," Sarah exclaimed. "Are you ok?"

Alice looked up at her friend, whom was looking at her, her face full of concern. Am I ok? Alice asked herself. She laid back down upon her sweat drenched pillow, staring at the picture of her mother and father. "I'm fine," she answered at last. "Just a nightmare. I'll go back to sleep."

Sarah yawned. "Alice, it's morning," she said, pointing towards the window.

Alice groaned, and turned her head to the big window. Sarah was indeed right. The early sun seeped through the curtains, and into the room, making the floating dust particles visible. For once, it was sunny. The wind slept, not making the trees dance. Alice winced, and cursed under her breath at her stupidity. "Oh, ok then," she said. "Should I get up?"

"Ugh," suddenly groaned a red headed girl. "Shut up, we don't get up for another hour."

Alice glared at the girl, then she looked at Sarah. The ghastly images of her horrifying dream flashed in her mind. "I'll just read until we all get up," she whispered to Sarah.

Sarah smiled at her friend, and laid back down upon her pillow. She stared at Alice. Her face was as pale as death and her head was soaked with sweat. She sighed, and laid on her hands, staring at the ceiling.

Mrs. Jackson sat in her office, with a cup of coffee in her hand. She hand a pen in the other, scribbling on bill papers and answering letters. Since the sun was shining that morning, Mrs. Jackson had her desk lamp off, though most of the time she had it alight. Her tastebuds stung when the hot, tasty beverage went down her esophagus and into her stomach. When she had finished her work, she pulled out her typewriter, which she hid under desk. She set it in front of her, put in some paper, and began typing. When Mrs. Jackson was a little girl, she wanted to be an author. She dreamed of the films they would make from her novels, the excitement of writing adventures, and the pleasure of writing itself. She was currently working on a drama novel, about a boy whom faked his suicide, to escape his abusive family to live the life he wanted. I'm so thrilled to be writing this, she thought. I can't wait to get it published. The continued to type, until her husband, Bernard Jackson, (he liked being called Mr. Jackson) came into the room. "Hello honey," he greeted, his gray hair combed back, and wearing a white button up shirt with brown khakis.