Blink

By NationChild

Created on January 15th, 2007

“Mama?”

“Yes, honey?”

“I keep having this dream…”

The river ran, occasionally overflowing slightly on the rocks close by. Scattered, with sporadic intervals, flat stones rested on the riverbed, perfect for stepping on.

And that’s exactly what he did. Leaping and dancing over the rocks, swinging his head from side to side, his body spun one-hundred-eighty degrees for every jump he took.

Plopping his head down, the little boy gasped. For what he visualized, a gentle current pushing the clear, opaque water, was not there. In its place, a strip of liquid as red as a tomato, boiled and bubbled. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that was…blood, a sickening amount of it, too. He could feel slight warmth being pushed up from the cherry-coloured liquid.

Feeling a wave of nausea overcoming him, the boy dashed from one stone to the next, seeing in his mind’s eye himself losing balance and descending rapidly into the scalding river of blood below.

Reaching the other side, he stopped, closed his eyes and breathed. In, out. Inhale, exhale. A loud thumping was heard, nearly in his throat. Touching his hand to his chest in order to slow his speeding heart, blue eyes opened, then widened.

His shoes made soft crunching noises on the stones beneath hi. The crunching noises changed to the sound of stones being slid and rubbed against each other as the boy quickened his pace.

Displayed in front of him, the water hurried to its destination, swiftly and almost silently. The boy just stood, and stared. As he stared, blinking, he could have sworn that, for a millisecond, he could see the boiling red rapids of the river again, only to return to the normal, relaxing river gushing as it went along on its way.

Shaking his head, he berated himself for letting his mind play such tricks on him.

Turning around and intending to explore, he halted once more. Towering above him lay a large forest, the trees thickly interlocked, and the branches having grown white from the cold of the previous winter. In the distance, an owl’s call could be heard, eerie and empty.

A few seconds after, the young boy blinked, gazing at the epitome of terror; something in the darkness seemed to change position. Squinting his eyes, the boy could make out shapes; ghastly, horrific shapes. He couldn’t explain them, because in reality, they had no shape, but merely emanated a sense of ruination.

Blinking once more, the little boy found himself home, snuggled into his bed, the covers half-laying on him.