Lights of Home [Ereri/Riren]

Chapter 4

|Levi POV|

     I'm running, my breaths falling from my lips in short pants, as I gasp for air. There's no escape.

     The cushiony, bright pink walls seem to be closing in on me as I run through the house, desperately searching for an exit.

     Coming across another door, I yank the handle, pulling it open in hopes that it's an exit.

     I take a step forward into the unfamiliar room, and my heart drops. It quickly occurs to me that it's a child's bedroom.

     Everything is pink, I discover. The walls, the bedsheets, the closet, all of it, just like the rest of the house.

     I take another hesitant step forward, before stopping momentarily to catch my breath. And then I hear it.

     The unsettling sound of laughter bounces off the walls. A high pitched giggle. I walk around the room, nervously looking around for the source of the sound. Peering under the bed, something catches my eye, and I freeze, everything in my body turning to ice.

     My hand travels slowly toward the object sticking out from the underside of the bed, pausing before actually touching it. Withdrawing my hand quickly, my breath catches in my throat as I see it's covered in blood. That means it's real. There is a real arm sticking out of this child's bed.

     I stand back up, whipping my head around as I hear the laughter again, closer this time. I glance around, now realizing there are severed limbs sticking up out of everything. A leg sits hastily buried beneath a bright pink sheet, atop the closet. Pieces of a torso messily stuffed behind a bright pink bookshelf.

     I try to close my eyes, only to find that I am unable to. Turning around, I realize the door has disappeared, not a single trace of it left. I begin to move toward it, before stumbling over something. Turning back to see what it was I tripped over, I wish I hadn't. My breathing stops, and my heart skips a beat. Staring right back at me, is my own severed head, a twisted grin plastered across my face.

     I glance down at myself to see that I've got blood smeared all over me, the unsettling warm liquid drippping down from my neck. No matter how hard I try, I can't get it off.

     Involuntarily, my eyes travel back to my severed head, laying on the floor. It blinks and grins wider, before the floor falls through and I'm falling through darkness. The last thing I hear is the off-putting giggles echoing through my head, before everything is drowned out by my own screams.

***

     My eyes fly open, as I clutch my pillow tighter. My own screams are barely muffled by the fluffy, plump pillow.

     As I finally come to, my erratic heartbeats slow ever so slightly, and my screaming ceases.

     It was only a dream.

     I sit up in my bed, bringing my wrist up to my forehead in a useless attempt to wipe away some of the sweat I am apparently drenched in. It would seem my night terrors are getting worse.

     I let my fingers trace their way across the nightstand, to find my sleeping pills in the same place they always are. Opening the bottle has become muscle memory, unfortunately. Popping the pill into my mouth, I gulp it down dry.
 
     I lay back down again, my legs brought up to my chest as I lay on my side. Glancing up at the clock, I notice it's only three a.m.. Three whole hours to go. I pull the hot and mildly damp comforter over my head, before drifting off into a deep sleep.

°°°

     Beep. Beep. Beep.
  
     My hand flies up, only to be brought back down on the 'alarm off' button. A quiet grumble escapes my lips as I shift my body over, off the bed to get up. I let my legs dangle off the bed momentarily, before using my arms to push the rest of my body off. I hit the floor with a loud thud.

     "Shit," I mutter under my breath, "I've gotta be at work in twenty minutes... Shit, shit, shit, where's my suit?"

°°°

     I arrive at Rose High School, the school I'm supposed to be helping teach a ceramics class at as part of earning my degree in teaching art. Art in all forms never fails to amaze me. It allows one to pour their heart and soul and raw emotions into something for everyone to see. The most beautiful part, in my opinion at least, is the fact that everyone will take away something different from the same piece of artwork, and only those who have been through the same emotions and experience will truly understand the artist's mindset during the creation of that piece. Art brings people together. Art tears them apart. Art challenges new ways of thinking, whilst also reinforcing the oldest traditions and ways of life.

     I hurry through the bright, beige halls, searching around desperately for room 281. Finally, turning a corner, I spot it.

     Stepping into the classroom, I quickly apologize to Hanji, the teacher whom I'd met with a few weeks ago to go over what I'd be doing, along with some basic information about the class.

     I take a seat in a dark blue chair off in the corner, pulling out my clipboard with today's agenda. Glancing at the top of the paper, I see the words 'Pinch Pots' and relax slightly. It would seem they're starting off with something easy.

     As Hanji reads off the list for roll call, I look around at all the students.

     A brunette girl holds a potato wrapped in newspaper underneath her desk.

     A boy whose face vaguely resembles a horse's.

     A girl with blonde hair whose name is apparently Historia.

     As I am looking around the room, one student in particular seems to stand out. He stares back at me, his beautifully tragic, emerald eyes truly a piece of artwork in themselves. A tired expression is displayed across his face, his lips turned down slightly at one corner.