Category Archives: My Story

A Story: Part 6

A Story: Part 5

The sun is blistering hot, as it drives into my bare skin. The breeze from the far ocean spills over me soothing my blistered flesh. I stretch across the blanket and…

I’m awake.“Where am I? What day is it? Has time even gone by?” Then I’m gone again.

“Janey…Janey…janey…” David just keeps mumbling to me as I lay here in despair.

“Shut up, David!” silence, and I’m gone again.

I shiver as I come closer to the glistening beautiful water. It almost sings to me, inviting me to its break. The sand beneath my feet is damp but warm still. It squeaks as I bury my feet deeper into its existence. Someone is coming closer…

My eyes open. Questions pour into my subconscious, “Why again? What is my life? What is the meaning of me? They said they wanted me; that I was the key to their existence? But why?” My mind is swirling, and if I open my eyes it will be worse, because the air surrounding me is chaos. The only way for it to stop is sleep. I’m gone again.

“Danny…Danny…”I picture his adorable face as my hand brushes a material beneath me… “Danny!” I leap from my bed, but the searing pain smacks me back down onto my bed. My head is spinning; I shut my eyes trying to contain the nausea. I can feel my heartbeat race, not seeming to be slowing down.  “Danny…”I try to stand, but the movement makes me throw-up across my bedspread. Small dribbles of goop cover my legs.

I need to know if my dream was a dream, but I cannot move. My eyes feel like they are glued shut. My arms and legs weigh a million pounds making it impossible for me to rise. I still can only hear my heartbeat…and a small pulse beating in time to my heart…”

“What?” The ever so quiet, minimalist pulse, vibrating upon my wrist. I remember the small flower, unclear of its true color. Attempting to bring my wrist into view, I pull aside Danny’s blanket…

“Danny!” This time I gradually pull myself out of bed and attempt to walk to my door. The room is spinning, but I must know the truth. I brace my arms on any firm object within reach, opening my door. It swings open with a whine and a cloud of dust engulfs my presence. Dust…? I travel down the corridor and every door is closed, but the doors seem untouched. Cobwebs covering their door-frames, like no one has been here for months. The air is musky and thick. I smell burnt wood with a mixture of dirt and sweat. I hear nothing, but moving down this hallway reminds me of the past screams that would torture my sleep. My legs almost sweep underneath me, I catch myself before continuing on. One more door…

“Danny…”his door is also closed, but it seems clean except for the scratch marks wrapping around the knob, like something was desperately trying to get in. “Danny…” The knob is cold as ice, and there are sharper edges now. It won’t open, the door is glued shut. “Danny…? Are you there,” I whisper hoping for an answer. Knowing there wouldn’t be one…

There was a sound. Like someone was trying to slide along the floor in short snip movements…

“Danny!” This time I raise my voice a bit. I plaster the side of my head to the door straining to listen.

Again, a sound.

The door won’t open. I kick it to see if it will budge. Nothing. If I ram my full force into it, I don’t know if I will be able to survive the pain or the headache…But Danny…Danny is worth it.

Preparing myself…Ram! Nothing happens, and the pain shoots through my shoulder to my head. The headache is bearable but the searing pain is troublesome. I won’t be able to survive that too many more times. Again…Ram! The door shifted…but the pain is worse,  and I am beginning to see dark spots. Again the small, faint noise exits the room. “Stay where you are…Danny. I don’t know…what will…happen to the…door.” I don’t know if he caught any of that, because my words seemed to slur from the dizziness. The noise stopped.

I think I can only survive once more. However, one more shove won’t help me succeed…pondering…thinking with a dizzy head is not helpful. I need a longer runway. The opposite door! The room across from his room is almost dead on. Without hesitation or conflict I open the door…

There lies a baby doll covered in dark goo…I do not need a closer look to know, because of the smell…they’re gone. The bed is upturned and every object is torn to pieces and flung around the room. Claw marks have painted this room’s walls, causing it to look like it’s in motion.

“Why am I here? Danny…Do I want to open that door? Do I need to know what I already guess…?” The tears come and clouds my eyesight even more. I cannot see it…I do not want to see this…

But that noise! There is someone in there and even if it is not Danny I must help them. I wander to the opposite wall bracing my stance. I look towards the corridor, sizing up the huge door blocking my path. My legs are shaking, and I only have this last chance…Danny…then I go.

My legs are burning, and my head swells; I see the door in front of me. I square my shoulder to the wood and RAM! Pain, tears, clouds, and then darkness. My eyes flutter open, and I am hanging halfway through the door. The wood only shattered around my body, but the door still hangs firm. I shift to see better but my shoulder…!

I can feel it, but I also cannot feel it; it’s like I have no shoulder at all. Ignoring the room for a moment, I look to the knob. There is a screwdriver driven into its lock, like someone had attempted to escape by unlocking the door. Probably without knowing our doors have no lock, they locked themselves in.

There is no noise. But I also really cannot hear because of the ringing pain in my ears. And my cloudy conscious blocking out noise. Danny…

I maneuver my body so that I can reach through the opening to grab the screwdriver. It’s wedged in pretty well, but thankfully only one arm is dead to me. I grasp it, yank it, it is freed. However, I lose my composure, I topple over myself, fall through the opening, land on my head and shoulders, and collapse onto the floor inside the room.  Bigger headache, and now matching shoulder of pains.

“Danny…Dann…” words will not escape my mouth…I cannot feel anything, except the pulsing. It’s louder now, pounding in my ears.

“Scoot…” The noise…I can’t see anything. This room is darker than the other; it is almost total blackness. “Squeak…” something is traveling towards me, at its slow but unwavering pace. “Squeak………….squeak………..squeak….” It has no words.

An eerie sensation travels down my spine. Goosebumps sprout over my arms and legs. The hairs stand on ends. The small pulse on the wrist heightens and my throat slowly closes. “It’s only Danny. Relax.” I say to myself trying to make myself breath again.

“Danny?” I say into the void.

“Squeak………..squeak……….squeak……….”Its body rubbing against the plywood, each time louder and more forceful than the one before.

Only slightly I hear a low wheezing breath breaking into the silence. I don’t know if it is louder or not, because my ears are ringing in fear. The noise continues, and it seems only a few feet from me. It stops suddenly. Only a hushed chill lingers between us.

Nothing…“Danny?” I whisper afraid of the…

WHAM!

The door breaks off its hinges and a figure lunges into the room. With searing pain, I fling myself out of the way. Then cram my pain-filled head between my arms trying to disappear. Pain is shooting over my entire body, but centered on my arm. I hear the scuffle, but the noises are dwindling in and out. “Dan…n…y” I try, but can’t speak. Then all is black.

A Story: Part 5

A Story: Part 4

Without opening my eyes I extend my limbs in every direction, and my hands stroke smooth material which seems to melt through my fingers. As my legs brush against the fabric my small hairs spring to life from the slight shocks of static. My feet repeatedly bury themselves and then expose their toes feeling the fabric glide off their visible skin. I can feel the warmth of the sun beat down on me and I hear a faint breeze shift in the wind. All is still and peaceful, but with my eyes closed I wonder about that figure. I hear a small bird, just out of reach twitter is own magical tune; however, it’s sound seems so far away. Then there is a tapping on the window.

Window? Bolting up I see the bird outside the dirty window whistling its song while ever so often tapping the window glass. So I am not dreaming. I am again in my room. But the fabric? …looking down I see a brown blanket draped under my body twisting into my bed sheet. This isn’t mine. I take the material in my hands and try and distinguish something recognizable. I can see nothing but my drizzles of drool spilled over a top corner. “Sorry” to whoever’s blanket this is. At the farthest corner, I see a cursive “D” spelling a word….Danny. Bless little Danny’s heart.” I feel bad about the drool, but he did snot-fest my shirt that one time…I will wash it out later, showing him the same kindness.

Strange I have no headache and no voices, maybe David has gone for good. Of course as I say this to myself I know if will come back to bite me later. But still with the thought of his name, he does not surface. I am just confused because I can’t even feel his presence like before.

I stretch my arms high above my head wanting to touch the celling. I feel no soreness or pain; I feel content and bliss. I prepare myself for the dizziness after standing, but nothing comes. This is strange…I almost glide over to the mirror in search of my eyes knowing I will see truth.

I fall back suddenly in shock. Looking in I saw orange. Not just plain orange, but fiery orange. I saw hints of gold and shards of red. I looked like a possessed human or even a ferocious monster. Standing, I peer into the mirror again my eyes are normal with the peaceful green and hints of blue and brown. But they also look alive. I can see my own reflection looking back at me. I wonder if my orange eyes had been real or if the light had hit the mirror in a new way.

I change my clothes quickly not wanting to see the bruises from the day before, and I see the layer of dust covering my dresser. Nothing has moved or is out of place; I lift the brush, beneath is shiny, new, and bare. How…? …No….

I open the door and all the surrounding doors are standing open, allowing any to enter. “Danny…” I rush to his room and there it is tussled and ruined with no sight of life. The little bear which he always slept with lays torn in my path. All the furniture is turned and trampled. Nothing is as it once was.

I scoop up the bear and wander back to my room. Each doorway shows another lost loved one. Gone without notice and what seems like, without a say. Each door similar to the next. Each door hanging on its hinges ready to give up on life.

Me too. Knowing that all these children, all these beautiful children are gone. I have no will to live either. I wander back into my room cradle the bear into the smooth blanket, my last piece of Danny, and almost whimper myself into a dead sleep.

Danny…Danny…DANNY! “Why Danny?” screaming myself awake not able to handle the reoccurring torturing nightmares. Since I have no recollection of the canceling, I know the shadows must have done this. My nightmares consist of me trying to save the children, but remain glued to the floor unable to save anyone. Then the shadows turn towards me and I awake. The bear is still swaddled in the smooth brown blanket, but now there is more drool and small dabs of snot from the day before.

I have not left my room. I have not seen another soul or shadow.  I don’t move because of the fear of being next, also because it will awaken my stomach. The doors all still hang open, including mine. Why bother. If no one comes I will die alone, and if someone comes it is my end.

Except for my stomach I would have laid there until I became dust and died. But the constant growling is obnoxious and I can’t ignore it any longer. Going to leave I turn back and scoop up the bear and blanket. I tie it as a sash across my chest keeping my precious keepsakes close.

The hallway seems deadlier. No noise. No life. No warmth. It reminds me of a book I read about ghost stories; the cemetery of headstones, each having a new original story to tell. Slowly I meander to the red door to reality. Maybe beyond that door all will be gone too. No shadows. No fear. No life. Maybe I am the only one still left living. The knob turns too easily, then I push way too hard, the door swings open suddenly, and I collapse to the ground. I lay there in silence. Catching my breath and thankful for the bear, because it might have saved my ribs. I brace my stance and push myself into a kneeling position….

Nothing. The small room with the dining table is toppled over and in disarray. The swinging doors to the kitchen are torn off its hinges and lay shattered on the floor. Dishes are broken and scattered everywhere. Every step I take another shard breaks into a million smaller shards beneath my feet. The diner is empty and every table is distorted. Nothing is the same. Everything is destroyed. I hear nothing except my breath; I am no longer hungry. No one is present, no children, no shadows and no customers, just me. Looking back over the path I have followed, I see nothing but the evidence of destruction. Something flickers in my side-eyed vision. A sign I have never seen. In blaring red lights it reads, “EXIT”. Curious…

I stumble across the broken dishes, torn cushions, and the spilled syrup covering the floor, towards that sign leading to oblivion. The door is glowing and the sun is pouring through the windows. I touch the knob and it begins to hum and sing into my palm. It almost feels alive. I turn the knob, shove open the door, it won’t budge. I shove again and I hear a crack. I kick and slam into the door. I continuously pound its wood until the door gives away and I topple into the light…

Thud…I hit the ground and I feel plywood beneath me. I open my eyes as the pain in my knees send a stinging sensation to my back. I see fabric wrapped around my head, and I feel it strangling the air from my throat. I frantically struggle to unwrap my suffocating body from the material.  My head is finally released and I am on a cold wooden floor. Danny’s blanket was the cause of restriction. Completely confused, I search of a recognizable building to know my surroundings. I see a dark form. A sturdy block shaped form slowly comes crisply into view. A desk…a dresser…

I am in my room…

A Story: Part 4

A Story: Part 3

“Jane…Jane…JANE!”

I shoot up and my pounding heads warns me with a stabbing pain to my forehead that I should lean back or I might die. I lean my head back closing my eyes hoping the pain lessens.

“Ha ha ha…”

That voice seems familiar, but it is also slurred and almost too quiet to find any distinction. Thinking about this voice draws a figure to my imagination. The figure is obscured but then I remember and recognize the voice.

“Yes, poor Jane. It is me,” David snickers to himself having it echo throughout my brain.

That Cretin. Why can’t he be like all the other voices? They have all been stored perfectly and none of them interrupt my sleep with their words. And of course only David’s voice is so obnoxious sounding. “Please leave my mind and find a place for you to be in peace,” I feel stupid pleading with my own self but thankfully I am alone in my room.

“I do not have that luxury. I forever must stay in the foreground of you mind watching your pointless imaginations never become reality. Maybe I will be quiet for a small amount because this corridor of memories seem interesting.”

Not my memories…what if he destroys them?

“Yes, Jane that is why I will leave you for a moment. Hopefully I can cause you much pain as you have me.” And his voice disappears, but I can still feel him echoing inside my head.

I open my eyes and my room is just the same as Yesterday, but has it been only day is key.  This time I raise my head and only a burning sensations engulfs my head and spine, but I am able to look across at the mirror hanging on the wall.

I slide over to the edge of the bed, because I dare not stand before I can actually feel my legs. Swinging my legs off, my toes touch the icy cold floor and I drape a small blanket over my sickly legs. However, in this sitting position I cannot see my reflection in the shard of glass about six inches above my head. So I tie the blanket around me like a skirt, brace my arms on the bed-frame, and hull myself into a standing, sort of, position. I adjust my position to see my eyes when…

In burst the deep red shadow and it lunges and grasp its claws around my throat. My sight dims away and the light leaves my essence. I feel my already stiff body crumple to the ground and drift into the abyss.

“Let go of her, even though I wish I could kill her on the spot we still need her. She is the key to our existence.” I guess they thought I was unconscious, but once this other voice began talking the deep red’s grip loosened. “We need her to recover and now it seems she will need another day. Leave!” This second voice was harsher and squeakier.

The deep red throws me back against my bed as I hit my head on the headboard and I drift back into the sleepless slumber, now with just a new concussion.

I open my eyes and my body is curled up onto a beautiful beach blanket and my skin is a stunning tone and it shimmers in the sunset. I feel no sense of cold or my injuries; I only feel alive and renewed. My clothes are made of the smoothest and shiniest material and it brushes my skin and it feels like someone is softly petting me. I glance a distance forward and there is the deep striking waters dancing against the sand.

I brace myself for a fall, when I attempt to stand, but truthfully all my pain is gone. Only the beautiful warmth engulfs me. I spread my arms and hop, skip, jump, run towards the sea without a care in the world, because there is only me. I continue to the water, but the air changes gradually to a humid but chilly temperature. I wrap my arms around my chest trying to keep warm as I watch the sun slowly drift downward to be swallowed by the sea. Goosebumps appear on my arms from the change in weather and I look back towards the blanket wishing I had brought it with me to snuggle into.

I think I see movement just left of the blanket in a bush, but I doubt myself because I am too far away to see clearly. The sun has drifted down so far that now as the figure steps out from behind the bush it is in a natural deep shadow, unlike the shadows in reality. The shadow has form: shoulders and legs.  Even though the shadow is about thirty yards away I can still make out the shape of the head and the arms swinging syncopated with the legs.

However, the figure is making quick speed and is now about twenty yards away and I turn back towards the darkened sea, but now there is no sense of light anywhere in sight. I turn to look back at the figure and I am engulfed in black. I can make out no figure, no trees, no sand, no sea, but there is me and the sound of steps crunching in sand coming towards me.

The goosebumps have sprouted hairs and they stick up in fear and now there is only cold air. This dream is not reality, I can wake up at any time. “Wake up!” I shout out loud because I want to scream myself awake.  “Wake up!”

The continuous steps have turned into a run, because I hear louder thuds but less of them. I can hear the breath of the runner as their body comes closer. They seem out of breath and determined to reach me; like they must or else.

“Wake UP! WAKE UP!” The last scream sends me through to reality. I am laying in my bed and I feel sweat dripping down my face. My pillow is drenched and squishes as I move to sit up. I brace myself with my arms as I sit and there comes the splitting headache. It rushes to my forehead wanting me to lay back, but I feel a tingling on my wrist. It feels like someone is gripping my wrist and their fingers are pressed into my skin. Looking down there is no amputated hand grasping my wrist, but I can feel the spot where their pointer finger must have pressed into my inner wrist. I turn my arm expecting to see something growing on me, but instead there is a small, almost invisible flower on my forearm just below my palm.

I heard steps, in the hallway, outside my room, coming towards me. Without thinking I threw my pillow under my bed and curled up in my covers and laid perfectly still, hoping the steps would continue. I try to relax my body because it is crunched and tense, a dead giveaway that you are not asleep. I slow my breathing and started counting to ten. The steps continued…one…two…three…step…step… step…seven…eight…nine…step with a pause of hesitation…then step….step…step past my door and down a new corridor.

I dare not fall asleep again so I just lay with my eyes closed continuing to breathe slower and keep aware of noises. However, like anyone my slow breathing and relaxing of the eyes eventually creates a peaceful state causing you to want to sleep, but still with heightened senses. The skin right below my palm, where the flower now sits, begins to pulse to my repetitive breathing giving me something to focus on while I drift away.

A Story: Part 3

A Story: Part 1

A Story: Part 2

All is changed. A family sits around a beat up table impatiently waiting for food to be brought to them. Their faces are unclear to us; I have never clearly seen their faces. I believe this is because if we do our lives will be done.

The small children scurry to their occupation and begin their strenuous work throughout the kitchen. I do not see them until the day is over. The blurry shadow’s heads turn to me and David, the darkest one slurs her words, “Start cooking or you will not get to feed your little helpers.” This is always her punishment for my reluctances to work; which always succeeds, because if I don’t work those starving children will die from hunger.

I take up my apron and David turns to the grill. I believe we work in a store or diner, but the faces of the customers are blurry as well, and I am the only one who gets to venture out into the masses. I wonder why this is, even though I already know the answer, it is because if I screw up they will cancel all of us and start over. I will be the cause to the obliteration of these children. I know this, because this is not the first group of children depending on me.

I wish I could just see one of the customers I am serving. I constantly bring coffee to them, hoping my eye sight will give me a clear view of one of them. But that never seems to happen.

Back to David, he is the only older boy I have met, usually the children are Danny’s age and I am their keeper. David, I think, was brought into the mix to be the professional cook. We seemed to be losing customers when I was cooking, but then the next day David was here and he does his job well.  I come to his side as he finishes his next order…a six stack high pancake tower with sausages and eggs. This plate of food would feed all of the kids’ one delicious bite that they would savor, because they have never had this type of food. I gaze at the plate feeling my insides lunging at the food wanting to devour it. I know I cannot, but the thought of my animalistic side exposed for a plate of food is severe.

“Which table?” still gazing at the plate, but needing David to answer me so I don’t divulge into my desires.

“Table two, take a cup of coffee, they always ask you for a refill when they are brought their food.”

How does David know it is the same customer, he like me, cannot see anything? Even though we are not technically related we confide in one another like siblings, and he was the first to express his lack of sight in the kitchen. But he seems to know the person at the table is the same as every day. Which would not be unfamiliar, I have regulars, but I tell them apart because of their voices. The funny sounding man, with the wicked strong breath always sits at table four. The woman and her three crazy kids, who tend to always pour syrup in each other’s hair, sit at table 6. The customer at table two never says a word, never moves in a way I can tell their gestures from anyone else’s.

Still pondering this strange feeling I make my way over to the almost frozen dark blue figure sitting at table two. I try to recognize something familiar about this character, but nothing does.

“Your pancakes, sausages, eggs and a fresh cup of coffee.” I place the meal in front of the figure and take away the cold old cup.

The figure does not say or do anything different. I realize now David must have known it was the same person because he must have experienced their silence as well.  “Would you like anything else?” No answer. “Okay,” I pull away and hope for something to stop me, but nothing happens. My fantasies never seem to happen. That moment which someone stops you dead in your tracks and enters your world does not happen in reality.

However, the figure again left about half a cup of coffee in his mug, which is the best part of my morning. In my early days of working, I would pick a customer and I would finish their coffee if they would leave a small amount in their cup. Even though this is technically breaking the rules, what the owners don’t know will not hurt them.  Also this small amount helps keep my hunger at bay. However, since David joined the group I had to share my secret with him, and why wouldn’t I? He told me that he sneaks bits of the burnt food that the customers don’t get. To survive we decided to share our secrets and trade off on days to survive and have enough food to give to the little ones.

Today was his day of coffee and my day of food. I prefer the coffee, but I cannot break our deal. “David,” whispering because the owners sit just beyond the doors, “I have your coffee.” I turn the corner and there is David stuffing his face full of the burnt clippings from the morning’s food. He stops dead in his bite and stares back at me.

“Jane, I am sorry. I couldn’t help it today. I almost ate off my hand because the hunger.”

All I did was stare at him. How could I have known this was the first day this had happen? His amounts of food had been slowly diminishing after our deal was struck. “You liar. How can I ever believe you again? We had to be a team in this, I cannot survive another change of people.” I didn’t mean to start yelling at him, but the words just kept pouring out of my mouth.

“Quiet Jane! They will hear you.” As sounds of screeching chairs scraped across the ground, and boots began to make their way to our place.

David turns back to his work and ignores the noises coming closer to us. I run to the opposite side of the kitchen still holding my cup of precious coffee. However, not thinking it through the liquid sloshes back and forth spilling over the edges.

A head peaks through the opening revealing a dark red figure with enormous hands grasping the doors. I stand tall and begin sorting the kitchen ware which I do every day at this point. David continues to cook, but his shoulders are so ridged that he looks suspicious and the figure hovers behind him. It looks as if this is the end of David, but the figure slips back through the opening and back to their darkness, just a customer comes up to me to pay. The morning is dying down and I remember my cup of coffee. I hide away for a minute taking my now cold mug with me. Staring down into the bottom I see only a small amount of coffee in the cup. Sadly I remember my running was not the best thing to have done, but it did save my skin. I cannot risk heating it to be seen by the owners or by David. I devour every last drop as the cold and bitter liquid runs down my throat. Wishing there was more I sink to the ground savoring the taste of that coffee.

I stand up with a new found amount of energy and a loss of hunger. The morning is over and all the customers have gone. I stand at table six trying to clean up the syrup with strands of hair mixed in. Those kids did more damage today. I feel a weird sensation and turn to see the dark blue figure from table two standing in a way so still and casual, but almost as if it is not there. Feeling uneasy I turn away to retrieve a knife and as I whip around the shadow is gone. I feel strange for believing a figure was there. But as I turn back to the table there stands the dark red figure from earlier.

“So, you decided to… some of our property… did you….” which is all I could make out that this figure was saying, but realizing I have been caught. “And you have decided to defend yourself against me.” Realizing I still had the knife in my hand, I drop it instantly and shut my eyes preparing for the worst.

Instead a child name Leslie is pull out by her hair and is held in the air by the dark green figure. David is also standing beside the figure, but he has no wounds or fear in his eyes. He seems to be smiling or enjoying himself.

“What…what is going on? David? What’s happening? PUT HER DOWN!” the words came lashing out of my mouth and the dark red figure closed his hand over my throat stopping my screams.  “Da..vid…? What…happ..ing…?” is all I could muster.

“Isn’t it obvious Jane, I turned you in for your crimes against our powerful owners. They have decided to spare me for my honesty and commitment to their power.” He said with no emotion what so ever. He seems brainwashed and dead. Also his face was beginning to blur.

The dark red figure’s grasp squeezed me throat a bit harder constraining my airway to a small pathway. Leslie hanging by her hair does not muffle a sound because she has no more energy to fight back.

“It is your decision. You choose, the girl to be eradicated by you or us?” He ends that sentence with such glee, churning my stomach. I puke all over the floor under me. Surprised the figures grip did not lessen but tighten hoping to kill me by having me drown in my own vomit.

I look at Leslie as she hangs there almost lifeless, with small clumps of hair already removed from her scalp from being hung in the air. She looks almost dead herself. If I end her she will die peacefully, but my life will again be a living hell. But if these goons end her she will suffer and I will live with the guilt. “I…will…” I sputter spitting a few drips of vomit onto the figure’s hand.

He drops me and I gasp for air hoping to wake up from this dream. David just stands by Leslie watching me cower beneath her. How can he do this to me, there is nothing left of him standing there. He is just an empty void…I crawl towards Leslie and she is lowered to the ground. She whimpers slightly loud enough for me to hear. She cradles herself into my embrace. She whispers, “I understand…thank you for ending me in a peaceful way…I forgive you.” My heart is breaking as I hold this child who is not old enough to know her own words.

I begin to shake as I place my hands almost touching her head. I must engulf her essence into myself. She will live on inside me, but just as a whisper. David sinks down to my level, “You should have been a good girl and been smarter and turned me…”

I suddenly shift and grasp his head to mine and I end him instead. He is captured inside of me and can never harm the kids again. His body crumples to the ground and lays lifeless, because there is no longer a presence inside him. Leslie crumples into my lap and squeezes the air out of my lungs. Unlike the times before I feel the presence of David inside me. He is lingering and not disappearing.

The dark figures stand motionless hopefully stunned by my actions. However, the dark green one again hulls Leslie into the air by her hair. The dark red one looms over me. Bending down so that his clouded mouth breaths freezing air at me. “You should not have done that. Now Leslie will die by my hands.” As he pulled me up to watch as Leslie would end before me. Leslie pleads with her still beautiful eyes at me to end it first.

Strangely the grip loosens on my throat and I shove the figure back and clasps my hands on Leslies head and she is gone. Her essence enters me and I feel her wander to the back of my mind. Leslies’ body crumples to the floor and she lays lifeless and forever dead.

Then all is black…

I wake with the worst headache and a groggy memory of what had happened. But the voices of David and Leslie woke me and I remember what had happened. Again my insides felt as if they would sallow me whole and I would die from agony and despair. I remember Leslie’s form dropping to the floor and then the smack on my head sending me shooting to the floor with great force. I open my eyes and I am again in my room, however, it seems colder and the walls are gloomier. I hear nothing except my breath which is more of a wincing in and out. I lay there trying to push back my memories and the voices stirring inside my already full head. David is there making enough noise to drive a sane person insane. But he is just one of the many voices trying to escape their confines.

I try to raise, but the pounding of my head surges to my forehead and slams me back down onto the bed. Causing my head to spin not planning on stopping soon. The only way to end the motions is to sleep. I drift back into dreamless sleep, knowing that these next few nights will be twice as bad, because there are new additions to my already counted number of voices at two hundred and forty-three; which now is two hundred and forty-five.

Darkness consumes my body, leaving my mind to float in the borderlines of sane and insane.

A Story: Part 2

A Story: Part 1

Unbending my crunched body, now I am completely stiff from being in the perched position too long.  The sweat of my face has dried into a salty mask. Beginning to get dressed for a new day I hear a faint knock at the door.  Still wearing my P.J. pants I slip a shirt over my pale cold body.  Because of the knock I do not fear the intruder.

I slide to the door, open it enough to let the little form enter, then I quietly close and lock the door.  The small figure curls itself into the fetal position grasping a pillow so tight it might explode.  I wander over to him pulling him into an embrace knowing he must be in agony.

“You okay?” stupid question to ask him.

“No, they’re gone. They’re gone…” the boy cried into my shoulder.

“Don’t fear Danny.  I can help you to remember some of the dreams, but not all,” trying to comfort him because he is not the first to come to me.

“Will I remember my mother? I cannot see my memory of her.  She is my only memory getting me through each day.” Danny said muffled as he sobbed into my shoulder.

This is not the first child to tell me their fears.

.   .   .

After Danny scurried outside my door and hopefully back into his room, I change my shirt again. Because it is currently plastered to my body because it is drenched in Danny’s tears and snot that was trickling down his face.

I take a moment at glance at my reflection in the fractured mirror. I glance at my eyes, they are dead to me. I have not cried for some time and now my eyes are only useful to observe my surrounding and keep me alive.

I quickly glance over the rest of me, but the garment concealing my nude, pale body covers my dreads and fears beneath it. My vison drifts back up to the shard, of mirror, capturing my eyes. My eyes are the only part of me that do not lie to me. They are piercing blue with flakes of orange and green; however, depending on who sees me they always see a different color.

Knock! Knock! Knock! ”Get your lazy butt out of that room and cook up the food!”

I scramble for my shoes and hurriedly slip my feet inside them. That voice is one you cannot let enter into your room. The fear of him far outweighs any other danger.

As the stomps fade away, I crack my door wide enough to slip through the opening. Placing a penny on the door knob, is my own security system and I will know if there was an intruder in my domain. We have no locks on our doors; there is no imprisonment to keep us in, but no protection to keep things out. Beyond our rooms hold the true dangers.

The hallway…the hallway is the quietest space in this place. The musty, burnt umber wood streamlines down the narrow corridor, which seems to travel forward forever.  Every three feet there is a brown tall door, every one exactly the same as the next. The smallest difference seen is the door knobs. Some are drenched in a black liquid slime; others have only a small smudge. The marks help determined who and how many have replaced their dreams with screams.

Continuing down the corridor I come to the only glimpse of change, a bright red door. This is the entrance to reality.

Reaching for the knob a hand clasp my shoulder. I turn and there stands David with Danny on his back, and following him are all the other children stranded here. Danny’s face is still a rosy red, due to the sobbing earlier, but something has changed in his eyes; they seem glossed over or dull. David’s hand still hovers on my shoulder, he is the only other older one I have seen, and he gives me a reassuring squeeze to continue.

“You ready Jane?” he says softly, not wanting to stir up the emotions of the children following.

Of course I wasn’t ready; when is anyone ready to face the unawares… “Let’s go,” mustering up the courage, pulling open that heavy, bulky red door, stepping over the threshold of safety and towards the unknown reality, and then venturing into the light.