"You are beneath me." I growl in outrage and throw a piece of popcorn at the television where it smacks into Buffy's perfect face. Then she turns and walks away, leaving behind a heart broken Spike.
A sniffle slips out before I can stop it and I immediately cross my arms across my chest. "You are a bitch sometimes Buffy." Strewn around me is an abstract masterpiece of homework, scrawled lines of pathetic poetry and of course research on hallucinations. Every normal high school teenager's mantra is: "Schizophrenia or nah?"
"How could you just totally deny someone who loves you so deeply?! And who is so willing to kill you?!" Again I bombard her face with popcorn, "Boo Buffy!" There is a noticeable dip in the couch beside me and I know that my invisible friend has taken a load off. Seems Buffy can really amuse anyone or anything.
I fall silent and feel weakened from my adamant outburst. I still haven't recovered completely from last night, still being blinded by dark spots when I stand. There is a thump, thump, thump on the door and I rise unsteadily to my feet to answer it. The world spins and wavers forcing me to use the couch as I stumble to the door. When I open the door there is a flash of brief light and then nothing. Absolutely nothing. The outdoors is nothing but white.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I turn in confusion towards the coat closet door. The front door closes. While I am staring at the closet door my entire vision flickers, briefly flashing flames. Then it's back to normal.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The door squeaks slowly as I open the closet door. And then she is there. Neck cracked. Head down. Purple face. Swinging forward and backward on a fraying rope. With each swing her head sways as if it isn't attached. Lifeless. Then she raises her head, the grotesque neck bruising visible. The vision flickers, once again showing nothing but a wall of flames.
I can feel the heat.
Just as quick she is back, staring with ashen eyes through her tangled hair. Her skin a quilt of pale, ash and purple from strangulation. Pale lips pull back to reveal rotting teeth and when she giggles the wall of fire returns, licking at my face.
Now her again, still smiling grotesquely. "Let them burn." The visions have combined, the flames encompassing her hanging body and the fire'a crackles mix with her manic laughter.
"Let them all burn."
With a start I sit up, sending the popcorn bowl flying. An invisible hand snatches it before it hits the floor and it is placed on the table. I clutch at my throat; I can't breathe. My skin is bubbling and boiling; I am burning. A hesitant hand brushes mine accompanied by no sparks.
I am suffocating.
I am burning.
I am dying.
The hand clutches either side of my head and suddenly I can breathe, the flames gone. Bent double I suck the sweet oxygen into my lungs. "Oh my god." My breathing evens out a bit and I grip the key around my throat. "Oh my god." I rest my head back on the couch and swallow the knot in my throat. It was a dream.
YOU ARE READING
The War on My Shoulders...
Paranormal"'Who a-a-are you? What are you?' The figure's grin widens and it brings its hands up to its hood. It laughs, deep, dark, and dangerous at the reaction it causes in the boy. 'Your worst nightmare.' It lowers its hood and the guy shrieks in surpris...
