Dreamland Armageddon

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Cover image: The Digital Artist on Pixabay.

Dreamland Armageddon

I sit up, gasping. That dream... I’ve had it again.

How many nights has it been now? I’m still so discombobulated that I can’t think straight enough to work that out. I do know that each and every night the dream is becoming more lucid... more real. There’s screaming, rumbling, as every single building goes tumbling down in what becomes a scene of utter devastation. Flames lick out here and there, and the craters that have opened up in the street swallow up the debris along with the bodies. So many bodies!

I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb Dan. I’d told him about my dream the first time I lived through it, and he held my trembling body, offering comfort to calm my distress. That was the first time. The second night he was less sympathetic, and the third time he had told me to leave him alone and let him sleep.

Since then I have not bothered to mention the dream to him again. I know it’s stupid to let it get to me so much. I mean, there isn’t a war. There’s no reason for me to see that huge mushroom cloud lift up into the sky. There’s no reason for me to see those people running along the street in terror before their skin seems to melt from their bones. And the agony I feel as I watch my hands dissolve before me is nothing short of madness. I know this, but this dream, it just won’t let up and let me rest.

It is four in the morning. There’s no chance of me falling back to sleep so I walk to the window, pull back the drapes just enough to let me look outside. Everything is as it should be, and yet I cannot stop the trembling.

I slip out of the bedroom and tiptoe along the hallway to the kitchen. There’s the sound of the occasional vehicle driving by; rather than being annoying the sound is comforting as it tells me that I’m not the only person up and about.

Coffee made, I sip at the dark brown liquid. Maybe if I concentrate, make myself relive the dream while I’m awake it will stop haunting my sleep. It doesn’t take much effort for me to relive the scene, and I do it so well that I spill the hot coffee onto my hands and have to bite back a scream.

It’s okay. It’s okay,” I speak softly to myself, just wanting to hear a voice while I run cold water over my scolded hands. The skin is not melting. In fact, now that I have rinsed them they are barely even red.

Angry at myself over the mess that I’ve made I get a cloth and wipe the spilled coffee from the tabletop. Some of it has dripped onto the lino. At least we haven’t yet got round to carpeting the kitchen.

The clock ticks away in the background as I sit back down, trying to get my breathing under control now that the rush of adrenaline is becoming diluted in my bloodstream. Maybe it’s to drown out the ticks that I turn on the TV, but more likely it is to cover my still racing heartbeat.

but there is something about the newscaster’s face that draws me towards the set. His expression is grim, almost frightened; someone delivering the news should not be allowed to look like that!

There’s no time,” he says, and there are tears running down his cheeks as he speaks, making the make-up run.

I didn’t realize how much make-up the newscaster’s wore, I think.

And then he’s not there! The camera rolls and the motion of the film makes me stumble before a roaring noise makes me cover my ears. There’s screaming, screaming, and some of it is me. Dan pushes in through the door but before he makes it into the room the outside wall tilts away and we’re falling, falling, along with the furniture, all of our belongings.

There’s the screech of metal on metal and the shattering of glass as I flail around trying to find something to anchor myself to. Nothing is still. I watch, wordlessly, as a huge chunk of masonry hurtles towards us then hits Dan. He drops like a stone beneath it and becomes buried in the rubble.

I land on my back, have all the breath knocked from my lungs and I’m gasping and gasping and choking up dust. There is blood running down into my left eye, and I can see a bone poking through my right arm. It should hurt, but I cannot feel a thing other than terror.

It’s a dream. I must have gone back to bed. Any second now I’m going to wake up.

Look, there’s the mushroom cloud in the sky. Cars are lifted from the ground and are flying towards me. Buildings that were still standing, crumble as though they were made from matchsticks. Dust, blood, slithers of glass surf the wave of concrete that is heading my way. And there are the people, running and screaming and then their clothes ignite, their skin falls away so quickly that their bones take a couple more steps before tumbling.

Now! Now! I need to wake up now, for whatever it is, it’s reaching me.

But I don’t wake up. I can’t, because I’m already asleep and my nightmare has become real as I begin to melt away.

 

 


Submitted: December 14, 2020

© Copyright 2021 hullabaloo22. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Mark A George

Flesh melting from bones is an image you've drawn which will stay with me. You create vivid word pictures, Hulla.

Mon, December 14th, 2020 7:18pm

Author
Reply

Thanks so much for reading and always being encouraging, Mark.

Sun, December 27th, 2020 5:47am

Mike S.

Another fine nightmarer, Hull

Mon, December 14th, 2020 8:09pm

Author
Reply

Thanks for giving it a read, Mike.

Sun, December 27th, 2020 5:46am

Vance Currie

One of the best things about bad dreams, Hully, is waking up from them. You created a super scary story out of that concept.

Mon, December 14th, 2020 9:36pm

Author
Reply

Thanks, Joe!

Sun, December 27th, 2020 5:45am

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