Nightmares and, Of Course, A Weird Blond Boy

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Chapter 1:

Nightmares and, Of Course, A Weird Blond Boy









I was running.

My skin was slick with sweat, dripping down between my shoulder blades and into my eyes. There was dirt in my mouth and acid at my lips and I was running.

Shadows were moving, twisting and slithering against trees, against my skin. I was touching everything and grabbing at nothing, I was blind here. My knees bled and burned, soft palms scrapped and bruised. I was screaming in one thousand different languages and yet no one could hear me.

They were behind me, I could hear them. Fingers ripping my skin, shredding my bones. Voices too harsh to be real, sounds I'd never heard before slapping me in the face. I wasn't supposed to see but I had, the scream of a neck snapping still echoing around my tiny ears. I was only a child; didn't they know I was only a child?

"Please don't hurt me," I begged.

But they didn't listen. I fell against the earth; hands ripping my hair form my scalp. I screamed again, piercing the air with anguish. They were there, in front of me, faceless with eyes as black as midnight. I thrashed but was frozen against the dirt, my cheek being pressed against it by an iron hand. I was dissolving.

Silent screams tore from my throat with no one there to hear them. I was going to die. "You stupid girl," a voice spat, yanking me up by my hair. I cried out but was rewarded with a slap. My skin stung, my scalp burned, I could see the blackness ebbing at my vision.

"You stupid girl," he repeated, mouth full of teeth. "You should have stayed in bed."

And I woke up.

Gasping.

My chest heaved, jagged and thick, lungs snatching muggy air and swallowing it whole. I was sitting halfway up, as if my subconscious was itching for a midnight run. A heart was working its way up my throat, preparing to leave the terror still instilled in the body quivering there. Deserted by my own heart. How poetic.

Drawing in a heaving sigh, I collected my sense of self again and wilted back against the head board. Only a dream.

A terrifying, blindingly real dream that skirted along the lines of reality. A thoughtful gift rewarded to only those privileged enough to see things no one else can. I just so happened to be the lucky winner. Yay me.

Going to sit up, I realized I was pinned to the bed by an entanglement of dead limbs and sheets. My arms were awkwardly clutching my back, tingling painfully, and my legs were being held captive by sweaty pink ropes. I groaned, gingerly releasing my arms and working the dead limbs starting at the wrists. If I kept this up, I was going to be an amputee.

Next to me, my phone was blinking. I turned, squinting at the tiny screen. A severe weather alert and it was only four o'clock in the morning. Oh good. Four hours past the witching hour. A beautiful time to not sleep. Yes, perfect brain. Just a perfect time to be wide awake. I growled, roughly kicking at my sheets and throwing my sweaty comforter off my numb body.

Sleeping was a feat I seemed to be incapable of completing now'a days. Therapy did nothing to coax my brain into submission. Just give it time; the nightmares will go away soon. Yeah right. Let's just start making blood sacrifices to the dream gods and running around a fire naked. I was plagued and no amount of medication or 'talking it out' was going to lift that curse.

I sat up, letting my feet hang off the bed while rubbing my face with a damp hand. Well the dream got one thing right. I was, in fact, quite sweaty. My night shirt was twisted and sticking uncomfortably to my skin, making a sucking noise when I pulled it away from my ribs.

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