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Title: Joanh’s Nightmare
Please do not take, alter, distribute, or archive without my permission.
Blood everywhere, coating everything it touched in a slimy, crimson tarnish.
White hot pain lanced through my shoulder.
“You’re a killer, Jonah.”
I could barely hear myself screaming over the ringing in my ears. My hands flew to the handle of the fire-heated blade buried in my flesh. The wound seared as I pulled the knife out, letting it clatter harmlessly to the cold stone floor before it dissolved into sickly white mist. My vision blurred with every ragged breath I drew, trying to reign in my panic. I could feel myself dying.
“I’m not,” I rasped, hatred for my tormentor shining through the terror in my voice. There was no way out, no escape from the shadowy predator.
“Maybe not yet,” came the throaty agreement after a moment. “But how long will that last?”
“Never.” My hands splayed on the ground before me as I knelt, head bent. Blood pooled in the dips of the smooth floor, returning sickly reflections of the tiny flames flickering all around us. I fought the urge to be sick, grating my teeth against the implication. I was not the killer here. “I will never kill for you.”
“That’s too bad, Jonah.” The eerie clicking of talons now accompanied the savage tone. My stomach tightened on itself in instinctual fear. “I had hoped you would be more reasonable…”
It took every ounce of strength I had to raise my head. There was empty space around us, melting candles dripping into nothingness, the slate beneath me fading into oblivion around the edges. It felt familiar but unknown. Had I been here before? I couldn’t have- no one would make it out alive and I was still so painfully alive.
Just barely, but I was.
With a feral grin, it moved forward another pace and halted mid-step on my right side. My attention snapped to the creature once more, glaring defiantly. Lanky, lithe, bristling with spikes and scales, vaguely resembling an assortment of creatures... Tattered, leathery red wings were folded along its sides, useless for flight. Its smoldering eyes reflecting only a tortured existence full of terror followed by a slow, excruciating death. Chills raced down my spine when it smiled.
It was a parody. A mockery of life…
“Please,” I whispered, begging as I lowered my gaze to my hands almost shamefully. Afraid. “Let me leave…”
It bristled and fear blossomed deep within me. I had said the wrong thing, made the wrong plea and its fury was almost tangible. For a moment I steeled myself for an attach, but it never came. Relief flooded my senses as it relaxed beside me, harsh voice turning oily and taunting.
“How far can you fly on broken wings, little Dove?” it hissed close to me. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think. All I could do was stare mutely at my lacerated, bloody hands. “Fly away, away, as far as you can. There is no place you can hide where I can’t find you…”
My eyes shot open, taking in only darkness at first as I startled, beginning to sit upright. Sharp, rasping nasal breathing was the only sound to break the utter silence of the sleeping house. My jaw was clenched so tightly that it felt sore to work apart. Slowly, I brought a hand to my mouth, feeling sick. As if to remind me of where I was, my shoulder throbbed painfully with the motion. It had fallen asleep. Pins and needles flared along my arm as I flexed my fingers experimentally.
Nightmare.
Again.
