Ominous Remembrance: Dreamless | Dreamer | [Jeff The Killer Fanfic/ Romance]

[Dreamless] Chapter 1 - Dreamless

Ominous Remembrance

[Jeff The Killer Fanfic/ Romance]

“There is nothing frightening about an eternal dreamless sleep. Surely it is better than eternal torment in Hell and eternal boredom in Heaven.”

― Isaac Asimov

Chapter 1: Dreamless

Whenever my mom had the time to open up my absurd psychological condition to those who would dare to ask, for me they would all suddenly look the same. 

The same sympathetic gazes that I would see from the others who pretend to understand my situation. They will just furrow their eyebrows--or look uneasy, saying the same statement that I had heard a lot of times before: "I'm so sorry to hear that."

Sorry? Why would they feel sorry? The same uneasy...apologetic stare--as if they understand what I'm going through. If they understand it...they won't feel sorry. The wouldn't feel anything. You see, I'm not a fan of sympathy. 

If you're referring to physical stimuli, or things that can be felt physically, it's working, alright. I can feel pain. When I got shot in the shoulder when a shootout in my school occurred, I was forced to stay in the hospital. My whole arm hurts like hell for almost two weeks. I can also feel mental strain, that's why I don't pay attention to algebra classes. I skipped school alone. Time came, until I decided to drop out. 

But if you're referring to something emotional, or the matters of the heart...I don't have too much to say about it. All I know is...it's pretty dangerous. Especially when intense. There are times that I consider myself lucky-- I don't need to hurry for appointments, and I don't feel the tremors of panic whenever some crazy pigeon makes a break-in into our house.

Specialists say that what happened to me was caused by severe depression that occurred shortly after my father's death. My emotions were involuntarily suppressed.

~~*~~

My lack of sentiments can be good sometimes. If one lacks empathy, somehow your logical view about the world is more advanced. Or realistic. (At least, that's what I thought.)

Still, how does it feel to be angry? To be happy at the verge of collapsing on the floor, or tearing up because of laughter? I can't imagine myself laughing genuinely. Crying. Experiencing some kind of heartbreak over a certain charming male...

Are they even considered daydreams?

Is 'dream' even considered as the right word?

Dreams are for the sleeping. Or the usual term used for one who expresses some great emotion for a certain goal. Is my whole being considered...dreamless? Am I just awake, simply relying on instinct or plain facts for guidance?

It was a distastefully warm spring night--even warmer than my preferences, and I found myself having the hard time to sleep. The digital clock adjacent to my bed glowed eerily green on the dim darkness, the shafts of pearly moonlight illuminating the half-open window. 

2:40 am

I can say that perhaps I'm waiting for my mother to come home, because I can only hear the silence of the whole house. My mother usually do night shifts in the hospital as a surgeon. Or perhaps tonight, she's dating out some new guys. 

Oh, Louise. Don't be stupid. Nobody opens up classy restaurants at almost 3 in the morning. 

I don't have much problems with mum dating guys. She deserve to be happy anyway, especially that dad passed away almost eight years ago. As long as those guys are kind enough to pass mom's baked muffins and offer them to me without being told, she can marry them all. 

Lately at dinner, she told me about a guy named James. She told me that she was sure that I'm going to like this guy, for he was never like anybody she dated before. And she also told me that this guy of hers is going to be around by morning. It's alright with me.

I gradually dozed off.

I woke up to the loud crash in the hall, piercing the silence. Thinking that perhaps, it's just some kind of animal that managed to poke its head inside our house, I slipped off from bed, and did a small sprint towards the bathroom door, stepping on an  innocent stuffed bear on the floor. Switching the lights on, I caught my reflection on the mirror.

My wavy brown locks were tangled beyond recognition. My eyes were a complementary color of emerald to a droopy shade of hazel green. After splashing water on my face, I wiped it with a couple of paper towels, and decided that a little bit of investigation won't hurt.

I proceeded out of my room for further investigation. The murky darkness of the hallway met me as I stepped out of my room. I squinted, and looked around.

Nothing. 

 I just shrugged and trudged inside my room. Whatever animal that broke in will be discovered later in the morning. Realizing that I'm the only one who is awake around the whole place, not mentioning the only living human inside the house, I decided to catch a few more hours of sleep. 

I locked the door behind me, and prepared myself for bed, when I found myself staring at the face of a stranger. 

I could have screamed.

Adrenaline could had pumped itself on me at that absurd moment, and I could have just fainted on the spot because of a mini-heart attack. The unsightly visitor stood in the middle of my bedroom, his inhumane features could have scared the daylights out of me. 

Sadly, none of this happened. Prosthetics or not, the grotesque features of this stranger look painfully awesome.

Standing before me is a man-- maybe in his late teens like me, based on his height. His inky black hair glimmered from the dim lights from my window. It was a contrasting shade to the stark whiteness of his complexion. His huge smile looked real enough--looking way too real for artificial make-ups. And his eyes...

...those eyes...

The 'smudged eyeliner' around the rim complemented his wide, staring eyes...as if his eyelids were burnt away. He stared intently at me-- and it was awesome, with the addition of the seemingly ripped smile. 

...with all the blood adornments, splashed on his white hoodie, very pale skin complexion like blank book paper, the wide smile and the intense--unsympathetic murderous gaze. 

I can't say that it took my breath away, but I was literally speechless. I stared back, perhaps poker faced. My thoughts subtly drifted to what my mother told me lately, describing her new guy. "A cheery smile, slim perfect body build, and dark, knowing eyes. You're going to like him, twinkie."

If this guy is my mother's boyfriend, hopefully, we'll get along well. 

But...what is he doing in my room?

I combed my hair with my fingers, feeling a bit stupid. I can't help it, but I blurted the most brainless question that I will seriously regret.  "Hey. Are you James?"

~~

oh. yeah. Chapter 1 finally over. :3 

^w^