A Story: Part 1

The night is cold but the sun from the morning is burned into my skin.  The harsh wind bites at my bare arms and hands wrapped around my chest.  I am finally at peace; I have no need to be afraid.  A fragrant breeze swirls my hair enveloping my face. I can smell the salty sea as it ripples around my slowly sinking feet.  The faint music trickles in as I sway to constant beat of the drums. Suddenly I hear crunching sand.  Footsteps are coming towards me slowly; however I am calm and relaxed.  Looking over my right shoulder I see the dark figure sarcastically tiptoeing forward. Giggling I turn back to wide sea and wait for the strong arms to surround me. A warm breath brushes against my neck and a face cradles itself on my shoulder.  We sigh together and stare out at the sea pausing and enjoying the harmony.

Beep!! Beep!! Beep!!

That stupid alarm clock! The pounding noise constantly disrupting my dreams.  Strange this dream was different today.  I am always on the beach but there is never anyone with me. That figure so dark and unrecognizable…

Beep! Beep! Beep!

“I’m gonna kill you,” as I hurl it at the wall; I try to enjoy the last few moments of bliss.  But instead…Bleep! Blerp…Blrrp…the dying alarm clock still attempts to ruin my morning. I sweep back the covers pulling myself up, as the clock is finally dead.  Hallelujah! Collapsing back and staring at my bland ceiling there are pounding steps coming up the stairs.

My heart races as I hold my breath hoping those steps keep moving. I perch myself on the bed while beads of sweat trickle down my face; I am ready to act if need be.

The steps hesitate outside my door…

“One…Two…Three…” hoping the steps continue on as I count to 10 in my head.

The shadow seeping in from over the door seems to soak into the floor boards trying to enter.

“Six…Seven…” I can feel my face ready to explode because lack of oxygen…

The steps walk past my door and continues on to the next room.  I release my breath and gasp for more air, still perched in case the steps come back.

As the steps continue to stop outside each door you hear a knob squeal. It must be at least four doors down.  I know the child inside that room is whimpering, because I have been that child.  The door squeaks open and then closed; suddenly a chilling scream fills the hall.

I have been that child at least I know the child is still alive.  If there had been no screams that would have meant death.  Least with a scream it means they have taken the child’s only precious possession…

His dreams.

A Story: Part 2

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