The Dream

Running. In my dreams, that had been all I've been doing for weeks. I could never figure out who or what I was actually running from, but I've had a terrible twisting in my gut that told me it wouldn't be pretty if was caught.

For the most part, the dream would go the same way every night...

I wake up in my bed, the room almost pitch black with a small red night light in the corner by my bookshelf, giving the room a morbid glow. I slowly look around, still slightly groggy, but wake up a bit more when I notice an intricately decorated full-length mirror leaning on the wall across from my bed. I'm vaguely able to see my face in it thanks to the soft glow of the night light, but there's something very strange about my appearance. My hair is done up in pigtails, but I almost never put my hair up. I c**k my head to the side in confusion, but my mirror image doesn't copy me as I expect her to. Instead, she whispers something to me, but she's so quiet that I can't hear her. Understanding that she wants me to be quiet, but I get off the bed and tiptoe over to her to hear what she has to say.

I gasp when I get closer, noticing that I have deep gashes on both of my arms, as if I've been cut several times. They look disgusting and infected. The injuries are the last thing on my mind however, when I finally become aware of what my mirror self has been saying.

“Get out!” she whispers. “Get out before there isn't time!”

I look at her, confused. “What? Why?” I ask. Suddenly, I hear a creaking, as if someone is coming down to the first floor of the house from the staircase near the kitchen.

“Now, go! He's coming!” Mirror Me urges, swatting at me with her hands.

“Who?” I'm definitely not as worried about anyone as the person staring back at me. Besides, I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that my reflection and I are having a conversation...

As I ponder over all that's happened in the last couple of minutes, there is a loud, sharp, pounding at the door, making me jump. You'd think my dream self would be used to this by now, and wouldn't be such a coward, but you couldn't be more wrong.

I run back to my bed and hide under the covers like a child, knowing deep down that it won't make much of a difference in the end. Unfortunately, there aren't many hiding places in my room, and there isn't any time to think of a better option.

I close my eyes, breathing heavily, and listen to the pounding, but suddenly it stops, and all that's left is silence. The door opens slowly, creaking as it does and causes my skin to crawl. The man comes in, banging on the door as he does, to simply scare me even more than I already am. He's very good at scaring me.

The man finally comes in, walking slowly toward me. Something about him automatically makes me shudder; he has no face... Well, he has one, but it's blacked out. He doesn't want me to know his identity.

Up to this point, I've been looking at the man through a thin throw blanket, but now I'm hyperventilating. I know that if I don't get a proper amount of air in my lungs soon, I'm going to pass out. Slowly, I poke my head out from under the soft fabric and take in a deep but shaky breath. The man exhales slowly as I expose myself, sounding almost happy and relieved. I just sit there, on my bed, shivering while he tries his best not to laugh at my fear. Whoever this man is, I can already tell that he's very twisted.

Before I even have time to think about moving, the man swings back his arm and slaps me hard against the left side of my face. This knocks the breath out of me, and I fall back, hitting my head hard against the wall behind me. After a few seconds, I sit back up just a bit. I touch the cheek that had been slapped lightly, hoping that the intense sting and burn will disappear. I fall back on my bed, feeling lightheaded. Remembering how hard my head had just hit the wall, I lightly touch where it had hit, and when I bring my hand back in front of my face, it is covered with a large spot of crimson. I begin to cry quietly, and as tears come from my eyes, I hear the man laughing at me menacingly.

I'm suddenly dragged to the ground and kicked hard in the stomach. I scream from the shock of pain and begin to cry harder. My lungs ache horribly. I just want to be able to breath and know why this is happening. What did I do to deserve this?

Finally, after just lying there and crying for what seemed like hours, the man simply watching, enjoying my agony, I gasp out, “Please.” The man shakes his head slowly and leans down on top of me, ready to wrap his arms around my throat. Somewhere deep within me, the part of me that's still strong, I find the power to kick, hitting him in the ribs, knocking him backwards.

More strength comes as if from nowhere and I jump up and start running. I hurry out of the room and down the hall, ignoring everything but getting away from the man. I go out through the door in the kitchen and end up in my backyard. After that though, I stop, not totally sure where I should go next. Knowing that there isn't much time to make a decision, I choose the forest directly behind my house. I begin to sprint as hard as my body will let me, given my recent injuries, but soon realize that I'm not moving. No matter how hard I try, nothing happens, and soon, I hear him. He's following me.

I scream as loud as I can for help, but it doesn't come. Things begin to get darker and darker until it's nearly pitch black and I can't see a thing. I continue crying until I feel like the man is right behind me, though I don't know for sure. All I want is to sleep, but my fear is ultimately greater than my exhaustion, so I somehow push on.

I don't have a clue how long I've been running. Minutes? Hours? Days? I only know that I want this to end, need this to end.

Suddenly, I'm stopped by something. “Did I trip?” I think, as a huge wave of both relief and fear washes over me. I know that he's going to get me, but I'm in so much pain that I almost welcome death or anything else that has the potential to get me out of feeling this way.

I hear him. He's right behind me, so close that I can hear his breath on my ear. He puts both on his hands on either side of my face as if he's going to snap my neck, and I do nothing to stop him. Breathing much harder than before, tears in my eyes, I whisper again.

“Please,” I say simply. He laughs quietly, and moves his arms in one quick, sweeping motion. I scream.

That's when I'd wake up. Every time.

My name is Cyan Astir. This is my story.

Reviews

[Tylar Salter]

Wow, Paige. This is amazing I mean it has such vivid detail, and the emotional attachment I have with Cyan begins immediately. I feel the fear, the emotion, and the pain she has. Please, write more, because I want to read it.