The Nightmare Effect

Chapter One

        Here we go again. I have no idea where I am. Hell, I don't even know who I am anymore. Usually these things would consist of me being able to move freely, until the eventual kick back into reality, but it's not like that anymore. I remember when I would just suddenly be somewhere, no reason, or purpose for being there, and I'd just wait for the thing to happen and I'd be back into the real world. I'd have to do something, most of the time, to wake myself up. It was all typical, up to that point, at least. Everything becomes typical after a while, even the most random and crazed things. It just takes time, that's it, just more and more precious time.

        I'm looking through someone else's eyes now. I think the medication makes these dreams more blurry. Note to self: need a higher dosage, again. I still feel everything they feel. I can't say anything, move, or even look around me. All I know is that it's night, I'm in a part of town I've never seen, and I can hear are footsteps on the sidewalk as this person is moving. I'm half sure it's a woman walking with some sort of heels on. Click-clock, click-clock. Whoever it may be, the only thing holding my attention is constant sound of the shoes. Click-clock, click-clock. Looks like I'm approaching a crosswalk. I push the button and wait for a couple of moments. The sign says it's OK for me to walk and the sound returns. Click-clock, click-clock. I now stop and I can feel something in my chest. My heart (I assume theirs too,) begins to feel like it's being squeezed like a stress ball. The worst part of it is how slowly it creeps, squeezing harder every few seconds. I drop to my knees, holding my chest in pain. A light begins to grow to the left. My head turns towards the light and an oncoming car is speeding right for my head. Just before the impact is made, I wake up in my bed and sit up.

        Although the dream this time wasn't usual, I still felt the same afterwards. After I wake up, I feel completely apathetic to the world. Can't really say if it was due to the fact of dying, or the insomnia. Maybe that's just how my brain wants to leave it, ambiguous so that I could figure it out later. I don't care for anything in the world, not even for my own life. Someone could tell me that my parents' throats were slit, my apartment was on fire and all the while they held a gun to my head... and I wouldn't lift a finger to stop them. I look over at the clock. It read 4:30 A.M. as per usual with these nights. Some nights, I'd be lucky if I wake up at five without experiencing one of those dreams, but I can count on my chances of winning the lottery than having one of those nights. I sluggishly move my body to the bathroom to take my early shower. My apartment is probably another thing. It looked bigger than it was, but only due to the fact that I didn't own much furniture to begin with. There was couch and a singler seater in the living room, decent HD T.V., and one of those fancy silver iceboxes in the kitchen. A better question would be why the hell I bought it. I think I saw it on a show once, but I can't remember for sure. Hot showers felt like a warm embrace from Mother Nature herself. The shower is a thing that reminds that, every once in a while, there's something good to look forward to after those dreams. Work started at seven, so I was decent on time if you called about a four hour night's sleep average.

        After the shower, it's off to make breakfast, or rather take it out of a box. I usually eat seven, or eight graham crackers with a glass of orange juice. I try to stay away from caffeine. Why do I own a coffee maker anyway? Having insomnia is enough alertness for me. Oh, that's right, it was a moving in gift... sorry if I get a little off track, mental focus isn't the sharpest without a full night's rest. After breakfast, I usually begin a walk to my work. It's a slow walk, but a peaceful one. By the time I get to work, the sun is beginning to rise and coffee starts to stain the air. I noticed a store window to my right when I was walking by it, noticing my clothes. My wardrobe is about as fantastic as the rest of my life at the moment. Black pants, shoes, a white dress shirt, and a gray tie. Now that I think of it, the walk to work seemed void less of most color. Am I really getting that used to my life? The day passes by quickly as I help customers find items in the store. I don't get a lot of customers to help, tho. The black circles under my eyes tend to scare people away, along with my naturally disinterested face. It's not meant to be rude to people, but after hearing "Where are the printers?" for the millionth time, I wouldn't mind getting slammed by a bus head on.