Lucid (standard:Suspense, 1181 words)
Author: Anonymous	Added: Dec 31 2012	Views/Reads: 4305/2486	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
I slammed my jaw against the wood so hard that I thought I heard it crack. I gasped for air and tried to stand again, knowing the bathroom wasn't very far. I needed to see for myself that it was just a dream.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story


"The people in the auditorium?" my throat tightened. "Why would I be
happy that they're all mangled and bloody? What the fuck is going on?" 

"I'll ask you to watch your language, Emily." 

My head was spinning. "How do you know my name?" 

"Oh, I know quite a bit about you," he said, flashing a smile. He ran a
hand through his brown hair and shrugged. "You can't hide anything from 
me." 

"Please." I sat up but he touched a hand to my face and slammed me down.
As he spread his fingers so they were across my cheeks, but kept clear 
of my nose, his own facial features changed. 

"No more," he hissed. I watched as he beckoned the nurse over and
grabbed the needle from her hand. "I cannot allow this horror to 
continue." 

I felt something slid around my wrists, binding them to the bars
attached to the bed. It took me half a second to realize they had been 
there the whole time. I had been so frantic to figure things out that I 
didn't notice. 

As the nurse stepped away from my left side, she shook her head sadly. I
looked at the doctor as he secured the second set of straps. Then he 
slid his other hand over my mouth and pressed down. I thought he was 
going to suffocate me. I shut my eyes. 

As I brought my legs up to fight, he climbed on top of me, his weight
enough to hold me down. I continued to struggle, refusing to die like 
this. A muffled cry erupted from my throat but it died in his warm, 
sweaty palm. 

He brought his unoccupied hand up and the tip of the needle gleamed as
it hovered over me. Another hand gripped my face, gripped my eye, 
forcing it open. Terrified, I cried into his hand again, the tears 
welling up as the tip of the instrument penetrated. 

* 

The scream I heard was horrible. It echoed in the dark as I shot up and
listened, my breathing ragged. It wasn't until I finally stopped 
shaking, sometime later, did I realize the sound had come from my own 
throat. 

I was covered in sweat, my body aching as if I had run a long distance.
Terrified but not willing to allow this nightmare to consume me, I slid 
out of bed. My legs gave in as soon as my feet touched the cold floor. 
Then I doubled over. 

"God," I whispered into the blackness. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." 

Trembling and nauseous, I was finally able to stand. I trudged to the
bathroom, flicked on the light and winced. I hesitated as I looked at 
the mirror above the sink. My heart hammered in my chest, so hard that 
I thought it would break through. 

"It was just a dream," I whispered. God, my voice sounded pathetic.
"You're okay. Just go over there and look or you'll never go back to 
bed." 

I had to coax myself like this a lot. This nightmare wasn't the first.
The very first was one I never liked to think about. This current one 
was tame compared to the others. 

Taking a breath, I stepped up to the mirror and looked in; my red hair
was knotted and messy, my skin pale, and my lips cut from where I had 
obviously bit into them at some point during the night. 

Nothing seemed to be out of place except for the discoloration and mark
under my left eye. 

It looked like a thumbprint.


Tweet