Hell Hath No Fury like a Teenage Girl

By: Laura Silverman

Prologue

“I don’t use drugs, my dreams are frightening enough.”

-M.C. Escher

My breath came in short, sharp inhales as my feet continuously pulled me into the forests depths. I could hear someone chasing me, their footsteps becoming less and less distant. Tiny twigs snagged my hair as I stumbled through the pathless dirt. Hurry, I said to myself, urging my body to move faster.

The forest was pitch black, the dusted moon obscured by the nights fog. My choppy breath made a slight mist as I gasped for air. I could feel the presence of somebody directly behind me. Who is it? I don’t know. I could feel its silent breath, prickling the hairs on my neck. “Give up.” The thing said, apparently a he, “I win.”

Waking up, I find myself shivering in a cold sweat. Fatigue sweeps over my body as I lift myself out of bed. With shaky legs, I find my footing on the floor and walk into the bathroom. My eyes burn as I flick on the switch, which floods the bathroom with artificial lighting. Rubbing my eyes to adjust to the brightness, I peer into the mirror and try recognizing my pale white face.

“Give up, I win.” Remembering the rough and chilling voice sends chills through my body. I grab at my chest, my heart banging in my ribs from running so long and hard. Wait, hold on, I’m crazy! I wasn’t running, it was all a dream. A freakishly realistic dream. I tell myself this as I walk back to bed and fall into an uneasy sleep.

I wake up the next morning with no recollection of the dream, only an uneasy feeling in the back of my head, telling me that normal will no longer be an adjective used to describe myself.