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That Dream Again.

Short story By: Blackdragon99

Based on a real dream I have had for over four months every night.

Submitted:Nov 25, 2011    Reads: 51    Comments: 8    Likes: 3   

It's now the time I dread. It isn't the darkness that scares me nor the sounds in the dark woods around my home, it's the land my mind is forced to slip into. However brief my stay it feels like hours. My own personal hell. There is NOTHING I can do in this land but scream, scream lies, scream for my life… Just scream.

Still I am forced to lie down, my mother standing over me as she watches me turn my light out and pull my covers up. She is unknowingly my jailor, my judge, my executioner, my minds death.

Still my eyes ware heavy as I lie there shuddering.

"It's going to be ok, please it's going to be ok" I silently say over and over in my head however I know it is NOT going to be ok…. I am going to die again like I have for over four months every night I close my eyes.

I feel my eyes forced shut and despite my strongest attempts to resist I fall victim to sleep. In my slumber my torture begins.

I am lying there, the bed is uncomfortable, the pillow is a safety and squelches around my ears as I roll onto my back. My eyes stare at the plain roof, my shoulder touches the cold brick wall. My feet dangle over the bed when I point my toes. I only have a sheet on as I squeeze my eyes shut. It is silent.

Silence is bad; it means Anna is unconscious again. She has had a meltdown you see and her screams have kept me awake, my door is locked and the halls are been patrolled by several nurses capable of knocking us out in seconds. The silence is broken. It is broken is a shrill set of screams, I cannot explain how I feel but I shall try.

I feel helpless, afraid, horrified, tortured, and sick.

I am unable to help her as she screams my name over and over again.

"Mad please" "MAD NO" "HELP ME" "MAD"

The torture makes me flinch each time. I can no longer endure this. How can I end this?

I can't

There are no pens, no curtain strings, no knives or blades, no keys, no bags, nothing to end this torment.

I leap out of bed boldly. I can't just lie there and do nothing.

"Anna HOLD ON" I scream as I run for the door my feet hitting cold concrete as I do. This is not right. It should be carpet. The floor is carpet. I suddenly scream as an intense heat blast my face. The door is gone.

The window is huge, split in four parts by beautiful white wood, yet the frame is stained with blood. I stare at my hands; they are bleeding, well covered in blood. What is the alternative? Every night I ask, every night I find out what I should never have known.

The window frames suddenly burst into flame, the walls are suddenly a cave. My bed is a stone slab, my blankets thick chains.

I stare through the bloody glass and flames and see a figure, short stocky yet muscular shouldered. This figure is wearing a tank top; their face is covered by a mask of darkness.

Anna is lying on the ground arms raised in a defensive position her screams are infecting my heart, I am shaking screaming.

"It's going to be ok Anna hold on" as I desperately try to move, desperately try to act.

"Mad you liar!" is all she screams as the figure draws a knife. I close my eyes yet Anna's death screams do not elude me. I want to puke; I want to die in her place. She is not even a close friend but she is someone I could have helped…. And I failed.

"Exactly little girl" I hear the chilling whispering laugh as the murderer steps through the flaming window like it is a door. I wonder why my view is sidewards. I cannot breathe.

I gasp as I struggle to rise, how did I end up on the blood stained stone slab? I gasp as I stare at the kilos of chains each as thick as my arm crushing me. The figure walks slowly removing black leather gloves slowly revealing slit wrist and scars.

Suddenly I feel the figures weight on me; its knees are hugging my ribs. It is now I stare into its eyes, a silvery blue. Full of anger and hatred and yet they sparkle as it runs the knife along my throat.

"Please" I whisper shakily. This seems to please the figure. As I stare it in the eye I realise it doesn't want to rape me, it doesn't want to scare me, or torture me. It wants my pain, it wants my mind, it wants my soul, it wants my life.

The first cut stings, across my shoulder. Then the blade digs deeper into my shoulder. I scream loudly and shamelessly as I am slowly cut, skinned almost. No. It is carving words into me, my forehead I know says fear, I felt ever knife cut to my checks, to my forehead, and to my left eye.

I am then stabbed all over my torso. As I cling for life my wrist is raised by my attacker, it shows me the slices in my wrist then cruelly whispers.

"You wanted this"

"I didn't"

The figure smiles and removes the mask as I feel my life slipping away. I stare into the face of my attacker. Pale, round featured with a slightly bent nose and those blue grey eyes. I am staring at myself. I am sure my face writhes in horror as my eyes suddenly see nothing. I feel one final slash across my wrist as I slip into the eternal darkness of death.

I wake sweating and gasping as I shoot to a sitting position. I allow my tears to flow as I look to the table next to my bed. My grandfather's pocketknife rest there, its bone hilt and rusted blades. I close my eyes as I lift it to my lips, somehow it comforts me as I bite one blade and pull it free of the handle. I then lower the blade to my left wrist around two fingers from my vein. I stare suddenly; it was where I was last cut.

"DO you want to die?" I whisper as I drag the blade leaving nothing but a burning sensation. The blade is blunt, every stroke hurts yet I feel alive. I need this pain.

"Do I want to die?" I whisper again drawing the knife yet again.

"Do I deserve to die?" the blade goes through my skin rewarding me with a line of blood. I lower it bellow and repeat this cycle.

Finally I place the blade down the middle of my four cuts.

"DO you honestly want to die?" I ask myself, by now I have my answer. I push the blade down.

"NO" I answer and pull it away leaving only a slight indentation in my pale wrist. It is now I allow myself to cry. My hand claw as I brush them from my forehead roughly through my hair.

"Maddie dear time for school" mothers voice rings. I hold my wrist as I pull the sports tape around it then my black arm warmers. I smile then sweetly call.


"I do not want to die" I whisper again taking the knife in my pocket. I still have that knife, it still meets my wrist when I am depressed but never again shall I cut for death, no I cut for life… I cut to remind me what I have that others do not.

A Choice.


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