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I used to have a recurring nightmare in which I drowned. Pressure and pain and unbelievable fright filled my dreams and choked them off early. They always started the same- racing through the forests of my childhood, the pines nodding approvingly as I fled some unseen terror. It was always night, always overcast. I always wore white. My bare feet would beat over fallen pine needles and moss-covered roots. Ferns carressed me as I flew between trunks and through paths that Man was never meant to find. I could feel eyes watching all around me, yet a loneliness so deep embedded itself in my psyche, making it painfully clear that I had no allies against the threat. My hair was always long, and it always got snagged on lower branches. I never ever saw the lake. I would fall into icy water before I could catch a breath to save myself. My clothes would drag me down and I would reach up to the surface in vain.
The minute my vision blacked out from lack of oxygen, I would gasp awake and bang my head on the popcorned cieling above my loft.
Still, I never expected my dreams to mirror my future so closely. The morning before "deja vu" took on an entire new meaning was completely normal. I woke up at four-thirty, jogged with my mace at hand through the dangerous city streets, showered, grabbed a bite to eat, went to my completely mundane waitressing job, and took orders as normal until what was supposed to be my lunch break. Unfortunately, I had to cover for Hope, who hadn't come in when her shift was supposed to start. I would have been worried, but she'd never taken a day off before and she could have been sick or something. I didn't know- nobody did- that Hope was dead. So I shuffled plates of grease while she leaked a crimson stain on her carpet and the spatter on her walls slid viscously down to create streaks. I saved her some of my tips since she had done the same for me on more than one occasion and I certainly didn't have a perfect attendance record. I was the first to discover her body. I was the first to be suspected of the crime. I remember walking into her apartment (she was always so trusting- she'd told me her hide-a-key's location a long time ago) and smelling a distinctly fresh-meat metallic smell. I admit I was sick at the sight. I dashed to her bathroom and vomited in a scarlet-stained toilet. And I discovered, much to my horror, that there was another body in the tub. It was hacked to unrecognizable pieces. I bet it was a machete. Or an axe.
I called the police before taking any more of the crime scene in. I was carted down to the station faster than you can say "This is some crazy s**t". I can't remember the next part too well. They made me relive discovering my friend and coworker dead over and over again while they called my boss to check my story and the people in my apartment building and Hope's apartment building. Eventually, they let me leave. I didn't want to go home, so I went back to work. That was a mistake. My boss took one look at my blood-covered uniform and put me on probation. He also ordered me to take a break for the next week and come back when I found more common sense. That condescending b*****d actually told me to "take it easy" as he shut the door in my face. I hardly knew what to do with myself. I didn't exactly live in the best part of the city, nor did I particularly like my cramped apartment. The loft created a little more space, but it was still claustrophobic and dingy. I could afford little better. I took out a book absentmindedly as I tried to draw my attention away from the tragedy. I wasn't entirely there, since I had forgotten to change out of my workclothes. Hope had been better off, before she died. I berated myself for wondering who she left her belongings to before I drifted off to sleep with a book on my lap.
I knew things were wrong when I woke up. For one thing, I was no longer in my apartment. There was simply too much space. Another thing- I wasn't wearing bloodstained workclothes. I was wearing a low-cut white dress that looked like it should have been in a medieval museum. I hate the color white. I always avoided wearing it, especially with my dreams. And waking up to the clothes of one's nightmare isn't particularly pleasant. After I quelled the freakout-fest that I was about to have, I looked around the room. French doors opened out into the night. I was relieved to see a full moon illuminating things a bit. The room reminded me of one of Edgar Allen Poe's stories. Ever read "The Masque of the Red Death"? Well, the final room in the story is completely decorated in black. Well, this room was like that. The wood wasn't black, but all cloth was. It contrasted sharply with my dress, my skin, and my cornsilk-blonde hair. I had cut it short recently and it was still short so there I was given another reason that this wasn't my dream. However, I found my blood running cold when I approached the window. This place was in the middle of a pitch-black pine forest. Don't get me wrong, I love the forest. I have many memories from my youth of having adventures with my siblings in the woods. We lived in a tiny yellow house without any neighbors nearby to disturb the fantasy. I picked blackberries, ran down paths, stabbed slugs with a pointed stick so that they wouldn't eat my mother's plants... It was heaven for a child with much imagination and a need to explore. But considering the circumstances, the sight chilled me to the marrow. I jumped when a voice disturbed the absolute silence that had ruled until then. "Are you finding your accomodations acceptable, Lady?" I think I might have screamed. Can't remember, though. I couldn't find the voice to answer the silhouette in the doorway. He asked again, "Are you comfortable, Lady?" I squeaked, "W-where am I?!?" He smiled. I could see his teeth, almost glowing in the dimness. "You are in Umbraea Manor, Lady. The Master has been keen on making sure you were safely settled in, even as you slept. You should be glad, Lady." "W-what?!? Glad? For what? I've been kidnapped!" My voice rose to a hysterical pitch and I flung open the french doors. There was no balcony, as I had expected. Only a ledge and a straight drop down. I would have swayed forward and off-balance if not for the hand that clamped on my shoulder. His movements had been too quick to register, but I now found myself staring into the face of a complete stranger. I took in the brown eyes and hair, exotically sharp features, and a stern countenance. "You do not need to be so foolish, Lady. Do you not remember your engagement?" "What?!? Wait a second! Is this some sort of prank?" I looked around, searching for the telltale red point of light of a video camera. "Alright guys, you got me... Hahahaha, this isn't funny anymore!" I shoved by the man who'd woken me up and opened what I assumed was a closet. There was nobody in there, just fabric hanging from the racks. The man said quietly from behind me, "It isn't a joke, Miss. Look at your left hand."
||It's late... I'm gonna stop. Maybe I'll continue this later...||
TempestuousSeas · Sun Apr 22, 2007 @ 02:18am · 0 Comments |
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