HëllaBubz
Diamond Member
About this time last year, I had a flashback within a nightmare. I woke speechless and an incoherent mess. Fun that was.
But the aftermath was interesting.
The nightmare cut in to me running through a 2 story house of interconnected bedrooms and living rooms, and I'm running, fatigued but running as fast as I can, as fast as I used to when I was fit.
The terror, oh, it's this velvety black, wickedness that is the deepest fog, most unpenetratable despair and misery, and it is in a tangible form chasing me through the house. Its amused, triumphant laughter trickles towards me as I run.
I refuse to look back, I refuse outright, nothing could convince to put an actual image to this horror. Horror cannot have a face because I'll never be able to forget it if I do.
The monster loathes light, and my only respite is diving for the light switch and punching it on after I've slammed the door shut behind me.
Darkness leaks under the door, never light, the mist is coming and this purest suicidal despair, inky black just washes over me as I gauge how much longer I can run for before it catches me and knowledge of some unspeakable action that will occur when caught propels me onwards.
This horror however, can will the lights off. And then the chase is on again. Until after a Millenia of running, I reach a room with windows but no doors. The low laughter echoes and the light flicks off.
I cannot punch through these walls, they are as final and thick as eternity, and the corner as I die horribly seems my only last free will, to choose my place.
I curl up and wait, a child-small ball, and wait for evil to handle me, for the pain and suffering to last forever.
And then this pinpoint of white, a tiny enraged part of me asks - why give up now?isn't there always a way? Isn't finding an out at the core of who you are? Fight, God DAMN it, fight!
Leave scars to remember you by, lice on in another's pain. Leave a scar that the next victim will see and feel hope. Fight! Please? Please fight? Just a tiny little bit. Please.
I morph to the center of the room, right in front of the human shaped evil, all my despair and hell and suicide all in the one place. I still can't look at it, but I can't think about it, and every last fibre, every cell of me - we do not beg, plead, cry or wish.
We demand, the loudest sound in the universe is my scream at the light, expect and know we will be obeyed. ON. NOW.
The laughter dies and silence rings and I want to cover my ears.
What are you evil thing? Who are you? What are you made of exactly? And if you are my evil, then you are MINE, and you will do as I bid.
If I'm going to die now, and I have no more options, then it's my terms and it will not be at the hands of the unknown. I will know you.
I brace and turn around and look that sickening concoction in the eye.
It has a face, and it is my grandmother's.
Suddenly it's in the corner, and I'm standing over it. And a wash of utter rage and loathing, as red and alive as my grandmother is evil propels me forward, and with utter, focused intent, moving so fast my limbs are a blur, I ripped that bitch into pieces so small that nothing was recognisable or could coalesce back.
I literally erased her from existence, no more. No more eyes, hands and monsters in the dark.
I've not had another nightmare like it since.
I had a few discussions with my psychiatrist, and I pieced a few things together.
My siblings confirmed it.
But the aftermath was interesting.
The nightmare cut in to me running through a 2 story house of interconnected bedrooms and living rooms, and I'm running, fatigued but running as fast as I can, as fast as I used to when I was fit.
The terror, oh, it's this velvety black, wickedness that is the deepest fog, most unpenetratable despair and misery, and it is in a tangible form chasing me through the house. Its amused, triumphant laughter trickles towards me as I run.
I refuse to look back, I refuse outright, nothing could convince to put an actual image to this horror. Horror cannot have a face because I'll never be able to forget it if I do.
The monster loathes light, and my only respite is diving for the light switch and punching it on after I've slammed the door shut behind me.
Darkness leaks under the door, never light, the mist is coming and this purest suicidal despair, inky black just washes over me as I gauge how much longer I can run for before it catches me and knowledge of some unspeakable action that will occur when caught propels me onwards.
This horror however, can will the lights off. And then the chase is on again. Until after a Millenia of running, I reach a room with windows but no doors. The low laughter echoes and the light flicks off.
I cannot punch through these walls, they are as final and thick as eternity, and the corner as I die horribly seems my only last free will, to choose my place.
I curl up and wait, a child-small ball, and wait for evil to handle me, for the pain and suffering to last forever.
And then this pinpoint of white, a tiny enraged part of me asks - why give up now?isn't there always a way? Isn't finding an out at the core of who you are? Fight, God DAMN it, fight!
Leave scars to remember you by, lice on in another's pain. Leave a scar that the next victim will see and feel hope. Fight! Please? Please fight? Just a tiny little bit. Please.
I morph to the center of the room, right in front of the human shaped evil, all my despair and hell and suicide all in the one place. I still can't look at it, but I can't think about it, and every last fibre, every cell of me - we do not beg, plead, cry or wish.
We demand, the loudest sound in the universe is my scream at the light, expect and know we will be obeyed. ON. NOW.
The laughter dies and silence rings and I want to cover my ears.
What are you evil thing? Who are you? What are you made of exactly? And if you are my evil, then you are MINE, and you will do as I bid.
If I'm going to die now, and I have no more options, then it's my terms and it will not be at the hands of the unknown. I will know you.
I brace and turn around and look that sickening concoction in the eye.
It has a face, and it is my grandmother's.
Suddenly it's in the corner, and I'm standing over it. And a wash of utter rage and loathing, as red and alive as my grandmother is evil propels me forward, and with utter, focused intent, moving so fast my limbs are a blur, I ripped that bitch into pieces so small that nothing was recognisable or could coalesce back.
I literally erased her from existence, no more. No more eyes, hands and monsters in the dark.
I've not had another nightmare like it since.
I had a few discussions with my psychiatrist, and I pieced a few things together.
My siblings confirmed it.
