Nightmare

This is a nightmare I've been having for about ten years, I thought it would help me get over it if I wrote it out

There are parts of me I do not like, little bits of infected me. I pick at them until they rot. I try to cut them out with a scalpel, but my hands are not that steady, self-mutilation is not an exact art. Sometimes the scalpel slips, cuts bits of healthy me, they start to gush vulnerability. I scrabble to stop the flow but my fingers soon become slick and slippery. Soon the infection leaks, spreads, slowly consuming my whole body.

That is how the world died. Humanity wanted to cut out the bad bits but slipped too many times; in the end they went mad with the pain. Those opposed to anarchy always claimed that there would be someone who had the determination and the power to take over. What the critics had always figured on was humankind’s  sheer determination and will to carry on, to strive for something more.

Humanity has given up, they cut themselves so deeply trying to be perfect that they could not stand the pain. There is no more purpose left, no more hope. The miserable beings that drag themselves across the landscape only continue to live because it is habit, a routine to complete by the end of the day. There is no one left with the will to dominate. No one lives in fear of their neighbor. No one lives in fear of death. Those who work are rewarded. The perfect utopia.

Hate is a powerful thing. It comes to us as a stranger without ill-will.  It comes to us unnoticed on pain's coattails to disguise the truth of its intent. It comes to us to comfort, offer solace where it can. Only to become our constant companion, driving all friends away. Those who we knew so well. In our loneliness it drives us to seek more more twisted souls in this  hell. It drives its claws into our hearts and rips our humanity away. It becomes us completely it becomes us so discreetly that we have no final stand. It becomes us, and conquers us. Then reveals the full insanity of its intent. Using false reason to tell us that what we’re doing is okay. Hate comes to destroy us all. In our pain we do nothing, nothing but heed Hates call.

Vengeance was born of Hate. Vengeance is coming to demolish what is left of the once greatest species of Earth. It is the healthy bit that humanity destroyed. That has to watch as it slowly dies day by day, that is slowly corrupted until its former glory and splendor are only haunted memories. In a desperate attempt to survive it has taken up the scalpel to cut out its own rot: humans. It uses Hate to justify the destruction it plans to cause. It Hates us so completely that it has lost everything that once made it good. In its Hate it has lost everything that once made it human.

In all this chaos me and mine have created our own sanctuary. Our house, an old Victorian house, with two stories. In the years since the insanity first started it has been our shelter. Inside its walls we were able to create a place untouched by the grief of the world outside. Everything is kept clean and neat, we sweep almost fanatically to keep the house from looking dirty. I share the house with three sisters, one of whom I love very much. In this land of perpetual sorrow and misery she is the one thing that keeps me sane. Long hours spent curled on the couch in our library reading keep the fire burning in my heart, refusing to let me grow cold or spiteful. She is kind and gentle, the feel of her fingers across my face soothes me more than any words ever could. There is an innate power to her, a greatness that lends authority to her tiny frame.

The second sister is the protector. She is ice where her sister is fire. To look into her eyes is to look into the abyss. While she has healed since our world crumbled the betrayal that she felt has made her wary of any kindness. Where once she held open her arms to all who needed comfort, now she sees only pain. The third sister is a recluse. When we are alone together I get the feeling that I am the only one in the room. I respect her, but I have a feeling that she has already left this world. Given it up for something else.

Every day when I leave the house I find third sister in the garden, trying to coax her once glorious plants back to life. Every day I watch as she desperately tries to regain what she has lost. Every day I watch as she slips farther into herself. Second sister hates when she does this. She sees the pain that third sister is in and tries to help. Nothing she does can bring back third sister.

The sanctuary cannot last, vengeance is drawing closer. I have this power, I to save everyone. I am not sure what it is but I know that if I choose to I can protect my kind. Protecting my kind however, would leave the three defenseless. I have to choose between those I love and those who need me. Ever since the disaster the knowledge that I must choose has haunted me. Who am I to choose? I am only a child, meant to be selfish.

I am flying in this shelter full of the dispossessed, seeing if there is anything I can do to help alleviate some of the pain. I see this mother holding her daughter. Her daughter can barely lift her head and her eyes will not open. The mother looks at me and she begs me to save them. She begs with every ounce of spirit left in her body. Imagine losing the one you loved most. The only person that mattered to you. The only one you had left in the world. Imagine watching as they slipped away, and there was nothing you could do. Now I want you to imagine how you would beg, plead. Pride no longer matters, nothing matters but that one person. Now imagine seeing that in the eyes of someone who is begging you for help.

I can feel vengeance coming for me, I am a coward and I flee. I fly as fast as I can towards the setting sun. I find the three sisters in our house. Bursting through the door I fly up the stairs. The sisters lie dazed around a gaping hole in the floor, my love slipping down into the darkness. I grab her and hold her above the hole in the floor, vengeance is waiting for us underneath, waiting for us to fail and fall.

Suddenly I flashes to a memory of us on a beach laying on the sand in each others arms and watching the waves roll in. Vengeance attacks and I can not run anymore I have to choose. Everyone is already in such pain. I can not stand to see them suffer anymore. She has told me that she accepts whatever choice I make but I can not do it. Like that woman back in the shelter I watch as the one person who matters the most to me slips out of my grasp. I snap, I go completely insane. Vengeance uses me, takes me over and makes me destroy what is left of humanity.

I do it willingly too, she’s gone, gone, gone and I can not bring her back. Her loss is this gaping hole in my chest that can not be filled. Love is strange that way. It feels like you have this thing in your chest, this thing that wants out. It is always there in the back of your mind. This thing that wants nothing more than to be taken out and given to the one you love, everything you are and will be. Everything you have to give. But when it is gone, there is nothing in the world that can replace it. Nothing except the bit of themself that they  give you, but they can not do that if they are dead. In the end I die, I can not take the pain or the guilt anymore. I kill myself.

• And I wake up standing in a vast lake of water. It is tepid and comforting as it slowly laps around my ankles. Looking down at my feet all I see is my gaze reflected back at me off the glassy surface of the lake. I feel warm and safe, as if I am cradled in the arms of the lover I just lost. A soft breeze weaves itself around my body ruffling my hair and clothes. I look up to see thousands of stars glittering in the perpetual twilight. The darkness wraps around me like a cloak clinging to my body, cradling it. I feel my feet slowly emerge from the water, goosebumps forming along my legs in the chill air. Leaning my head back I feel completely at peace, no more pain, no more sadness.

A voice says no, snaps me back to the ground, I scream at my loss. I hold my hands over my ears to try and make the ringing in my head stop. The voice was so clear and commanding, cutting through my peace to my denial. Looking up I search for the source of the voice. There is a tree in the water, a glorious towering oak with magnificent arching branches. I do not know how I did not see it before. A woman stands at the base of the tree, she tells me that I am not allowed to touch the stars, because I am not truly dead yet. I am stuck in this land of solitude until I forgive myself. She says the water is the tears of the dead who came before me. It was not until then that I realized I was crying.

I wanted so desperately to touch the stars. To be free of the guilt and the pain that my indecision and cowardice had caused. The woman tells me though that these emotions will contaminate the stars, and make the other dead miserable. I can not do that to them. They are there because of me, I can not take away their last peace because I am too selfish to wait. So I climb up into the tree, I find a branch with moss on it. I curl up on that branch and cry myself to sleep in the perpetual twilight of death wishing desperately for someone to hold me.