A Nightmare

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 4 (v.1) - Restart

Submitted: September 06, 2018

Reads: 45

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Submitted: September 06, 2018

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“You looked handsome,” her crisp and raspy voice made way into his ears from behind, “I liked, the shadow of death on your face. How deep,” she continued, “rooted, and miserable.” She finished, but he paid it no heed.

“Get out,” he voiced lowly and forced two fingers into his throat to make him throw up on the excessive medicine he had taken, in which he succeeded. Sweat, tears and undigested stuff now covered his face and in a defeated manner he started sobbing, sulking and slowly started treading towards the mop cabinet. With all that was occurring, he had lost the grip of his hand and just drew the cleaning accessories by sheer willpower, filling an iron bucket from the faucet he slammed it on the ground. Weak and narrow eyes with rolling tears now started focusing on the thrown-out material, “I can’t … go on.” He sobbed against his breath while trying to clean the floor of his disgust. He sniffled, wiping his nose from the tears and snot, he again dipped the clean piece of clothing into the water and started rubbing it slowly. Not being able to keep himself quiet he screamed out loud and threw the duster away and in a fit of rage dumped the water bucket on himself and kept the bucket on his head, which seemed to settle him down quite a bit.

The only movements noticeable were of his arms hanging, slowly coming to a rest and his heaving chest that expanded and contracted at an erratic pace. Subsiding his sobbing into the bucket he rested his broken form on his left thigh and with an excruciating sigh managed to pull himself up in a standing posture without losing balance. He lifted the bucket form his head revealing a deadpan face with no expressions whatsoever, heavy eyelids with bloodshot sclera and damped hairs ending just above his eyebrows. Slowly he waded through the horde of barricades that he laid waste to in his rampage to the split window. While on his way to the window he constantly kept his now-freed jaw in motion, wiggled his fingers in the ear and everything that could keep his ears from resonating with the emptiness in his heart.

Opening the window panes he held onto them tightly and inhaled the musky scent of the late noon concreate road ablaze in the sun. Deeply, and deeply until he thought he could inhale no more and in a sudden moment he let it all out screaming her name. His face turned from skin color to red, to blood red and finally to purple as he scream-ripped his facial capillaries burning through his reserves of oxygen, rupturing his larynx trying to remove the deafening from his ear and lost the bet on both. His lungs were on fire, vocal cords were torn apart and his heart was banging against his ribcage in a ferocious manner. He didn’t bother wiping the blood from his mouth, nor did he wiped his blood tears that were gushing out from his tear ducts. He felt, calm and full as he stumbled back towards the bed in a dizzy manner and dropped down on his knees resisting the fall by taking the bed’s support, heaving uncontrollably.

“Pathetic,” her voice rang in his mind alarming him of the ever-present threat. He darted at his back, she was standing a few feet away from the opened window feeling the gentle summer breeze without showing any sign of the effects on her hairs, clothes or whatsoever. She turned to him, “you’re gonna fail me again, aren’t you?” and questioned him with a predatory smile to which he shook his head violently. “I know you will,” she again tortured him with the same monotone voice, “you’re not even answering me.”

Regretting his earlier actions of venting his anger he started crawling his way towards her negating her allegations with his head and tried forming a couple of words with his tattered voice box. Not being able to muster up any strength due to his earlier nonsensical action he dragged himself on the floor to her not minding the glass shards or the broken wooden frame that he was crawling on damaging his flesh. The more he crawled towards her, the more he felt another presence behind him and when he had almost reached her the one standing behind him stabbed his right leg with two iron rods – in his knee cap and upper thigh bone – breaking both of them. Floundering from the excruciating pain she delivered him he tried tearing off his limb but to no avail. He was going to fail her yet again, she was going and he was just stuck with his leg injury.

“Why, why does it had to be me?” he thought without lifting his smeared face and cried on the dust, blood and glass laden carpet and suddenly went dead quiet.

“Yes, you’re thinking in the right direction now.” she exclaimed as he took a piece of broken mirror glass and eyed the rod in disgust, determined to free his leg he turned around as much as possible but hesitated in hurting himself and lowered the glass shard closing his eyes.

“If you’re not gonna do it,” she sounded offended for the first time but before she could finish her sentence he stabbed his leg with the glass and continued without flinching. He wasn’t feeling any pain, just a surge to free his leg and save her. Keeping an eye on her and his progress he hastened as he saw her nearing the window, he knew she was gonna jump and there was no stopping her if he cannot get his leg out.

“Faster,” he commanded his now bleeding hand and it obeyed, “faster”, he yelled in his mind realizing that she was now standing on the window frame facing him with closed eyes. Having cleaved his thigh, he started tugging on it and succeeded in separating himself form the carcass. He uttered some gibberish sound and tried calling her name to get attention but it wasn’t happening, he was now beyond broken. In her final moments she slowly opened her eyes, gave him a smile and he screamed in horror in his ripped voice throwing himself at her as she pushed herself off of the window. A triumphant voice claimed him as he neared her falling frame but by the end he found himself half out of the bed with bed with sheets still wrapped around his mid-section with a stretched arm reaching for the blunt, ragged carpet beneath.


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