The Night Mare
It happened again. Jason had woken up, every night, for the last three years, sweating and shaking. He had expected that they were just nightmares, but it was never just a nightmare, and deep down he knew it. With a nightmare you can explain it, you can visualize it, and you can understand it. With a nightmare you can blame it on something you ate, or you can just shove it to one side and say that you just saw some scary movie that was just like it. This wasn't a nightmare. How he had wished it was a nightmare.
Jason had gotten used to it though, if you can call it getting used to something. He had adjusted himself to waking up at dawn every morning, to the stress the lack of sleep had put on him, but not to the dreams. Not the dreams. He had tried going over it in his head so many times, but all he could ever seem to remember, was the dark. Only the dark.
As much as he could, he had hidden his dreams and his tired soul from everyone. He had become isolate and remote from everyone close to him. He was being worn out, his soul itself was becoming faint and weary, his parents had noticed, so had his friends. He was alone, just him and the dreams. He was more than frightened; his mind was slowly slipping away from him.
He didn't know what he was, what he was destined to do. What he was born to do. What he was created to be. And if he did know, he could never live a full life. But he won't anyway. He's destined not too.
As he slowly sat up, he couldn't help but keep his eyes tight shut. He knew what he was going to see when he opened his eyes. He knew what was waiting to plunge into his weary eyes. The light. It was strange to think, that after the years of fearing, dreading, the cold, unforgiving, darkness, that Jason loathed the first light of dawn so much. It was as if the light pierced the back of his skull, pushing something to the deepest sanctities of his mind. Like locking away a secret, which no-one was ever meant to discover.