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Lucid Nightmares [Auggie x Emri]

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Lucid Nightmares [Auggie x Emri]

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby lackadaisyfancies on Tue Sep 04, 2012 12:24 am


Jaundiced yellow light poured in from the single white window, leaving a glowing puddle on the floor. The day was no longer young and instead was retreating into twilight. After the lackluster (though nutritious, they were all assured) dinner they were all allowed their recreation time. Rather than spending her free time in the wide open rec room with the rest of the stable, non-violent patients, playing outdated board games with most of the pieces missing or otherwise shuffling around making small-talk Desdemona had chosen to seclude herself in her room with a large white canvas that had been so graciously provided for her. For all of the flaws the establishment had most of the nurses and doctors really did have the best intentions for those in their care. And living here was certainly easier than going back to the outside world.

Today had been a particularly bad day. There had been no major catastrophe, no great revelation, just an oppressive sense of melancholy. She had muddled through the day, drifting from location to location like a ghost in her own life. It was as if someone else had stepped into her place and decided that they were now Desdemona Monroe, ejecting her and leaving her stuck somewhere in between existence and oblivion. She had been warily avoiding the mahogany-set mirror in the corner of her room since that morning, when she had been putting her hair in a loose braid for the novelty of it. All of a sudden her nimble hands had stopped running through the long dark locks and she realized that she was playing with someone else’s hair. The logical portion of her mind understood that the mess of thick mane was hers, but she felt no sense of ownership. The feeling spread to her hands, which she was instantly sure she was just borrowing. Eventually, frustrated, she gave up her attempts to make sense of what she was seeing and gazed vacantly at the mirror, watching a stranger ready themselves for the day.

She hadn’t told anybody about the incident during her regular therapy sessions. It was silly, but a tiny, frightened part of her worried that if she shared her discomforts they would only be made more real; she would be acknowledging that she didn’t belong in her own body. And they would think she was crazy.
Well, she was, in a way, wasn’t she?

Keeping a dirty little secret like that was taxing enough on its own, especially under the probing questions of the doctor assigned to her case. She almost felt bad for the woman, who had long ago learned to deal with Desdemona avoiding her questions and now merely sounded tired when she tried to pry details out of the girl. She wasn’t deliberately defiant like some of the other patients, but she wasn’t particularly cooperative. As much as she feared being alone, being forgotten, it was nice to escape the stress and retreat somewhere quiet to think. Thinking, however, wasn’t something usually involved when she settled in to create a piece of artwork. It was an act of pure movement, and even if she wanted to think she was prevented from doing so. It started out innocently enough, like always, with staring at a blank piece of paper as foreign to her as the image in the mirror. She had taken a pencil from her neatly-arranged desk and put it to the suspended paper on the easel, sketching a tree here, a tree there, perhaps preparing to draw a whimsical forest scene prime for escapist fantasies. But then it gripped her, whatever force it was that was constantly domineering her body and making it its own. It seized her and her carefully planned lines dissolved into a frenzy of scribbles and slashes. At some point she had wet a paint brush, though she couldn’t for the life of her recall the memory of doing so. The entire sequence was blurred and distorted beyond recognition. Somewhere along the line she had been painting so erratically and ferociously that several projectile droplets of black paint had splattered on her white t-shirt. This, evidently, had not detoured her, as at no point did she remember pausing to clean.

Were it not for the sturdy black alarm clock with angry red numbers and the window that showed the descent of night the amount of time she had spent occupied with her project might have been a mystery to her. The next conscious action she could conjure up in her mind was scooting her blocky wooden chair backwards to admire her handy-work. Her stomach twisted. She had indeed created a forest, but one without leaves, or any signs of life. Gnarled tree branches tangled together and roots squirmed up from the ground. Given her love for bright colors, the scene was disturbingly monochromatic: mostly black, gray, white, a little brown. As she stared forms wriggled out from the mess of wizened black branches. They were the shapes of two eyes, staring condescendingly down from the canopy of the dead land. They were unnerving and she desperately scrambled to contrive her reason for painting them. For all of her mental acrobatics, no good explanation emerged. Swallowing hard, she stood up. That was enough painting for the night.
Though the clock had barely flashed past eight, she felt drained. She needed to lie down. Before falling back to her bed, she hastily turned the easel around so it was facing the wall. She didn’t want it watching her sleep. Without bothering to change into one of the sterile white nightgowns she collapsed onto the spring mattress and buried her head in her pillow. She didn’t want to see anymore. She wanted to sleep, to feel some sort of release. Though her gut continued to churn and her mind continued to race her eyes soon closed, perhaps willed shut by sheer determination.

White sneakers scuffed cold, dark earth as she wandered. Wispy fog snaked around her ankles and tugged at the hems of her jeans. She was walking through a familiar wood, one of stark contrasts. The sky was gray, the trees were black, and the dirt was a damning color brown. None of it had any particular depth. Instead it seemed to resemble a scene created from cardboard cut-outs. There were whispers in the trees, though there was no wind to rattle their skeletal branches. Why did she know this place? Did she live here? No, that wouldn’t make sense. Why would she want to live in such an awful forest? But then how? Oh, maybe she had painted it. This seemed like a more reasonable solution to Desdemona as she wandered through the nightmarish landscape. It was unsettling. Nothing was moving, but simultaneously the forest seemed to be breathing. Wizened tree trunks gazed lewdly at her as she passed. She wasn’t sure where she was going, or why she was walking, really. Instead she was driven by some animal impulse. The further she walked, however, the louder the whispers in the trees got. Maybe her instincts were suicidal.

Whispering turned to chanting, some infernal language hummed from the tree-tops. She was gripped by the sudden suspicion that she was walking a gauntlet. Her footfalls were accompanied by jeers from every side. “Sell me your name?” hissed a voice. “You’d make a lovely coat!” proclaimed another. Against these verbal assaults she steeled herself, puffing up her chest and cementing her resolve. “A penny for your thoughts? Two for your tears! And fifty cents for some blood.”

Amidst the cacophony her footfalls stopped, cemented in place. An unseen audience continued their cat-calling and a stretch of dreamscape reached out in front of her. And all she could think was that somehow, something was amiss.

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Re: Lucid Nightmares [Auggie x Emri]

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Fadded on Thu Sep 06, 2012 12:59 pm

Darkness oozed through the cracks of the mental hospital and spread over the ceiling. It felt the tug of each and every patient, nurse, and doctor in the building. It tasted the fear, the uncertainties, the vulnerabilities. It was almost overwhelming. The darkness could only latch on to one person at a time for now. Soon, it would gain in strength and the more minds it could devour wholly until everyone screamed about the darkness invading their minds. Then when they were dead, it'd gobble up their very essence of the poor, weak humans and take their strength for its own. Darkness would grow and grow until it could stretch beyond the hospital into the world beyond the walls until everything lived in fear.

The shadow passed over the doors and sampled the fear in each room. The patients were the easiest. Their minds were already so, so broken and cracked; all their walls were down. Well the weaker patience had their walls down. Such simple prey. Shadow would be stronger soon; maybe a few weeks. This hospital would be its domain, its home. This was Shadow's birth place after all. A patient had created it and now that the patient was gone, Shadow would feed on everyone else.

Ah, what a delicious flavor in the air. The darkness smoked its way into a room filled with a nightmare in progress. Shadow passed over the aisle with the dark forest painting. Perfect scene. Shadow surrounded the shivering female form on the bed and the inky mist swirled and stretched above the girl as it slowly slid itself into the crack formed by the nightmare. Shadow loved it when the humans set the stage for it to do its work. Now it just needed to continue the nightmare, make it worse and perhaps it had strength enough to keep the woman unconscious until it gathered up more strength.

Without further adieu, it entered the dream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Slowly the dreamscape started to darken until Desdemona couldn't see anything in her path. As the woman walked, the tree branches scraped at her clothes and cut her skin. The branches slowly started to morph into claws that desperately tugged her without care. Laughter filled the air and the whispers pressed in on her as if they had a physical presence against her. Then five creatures appeared in a circle around the girl. Each creature had a human shape, but they weren't whole. Each leg, hand, joint, was from a differen't body until they were a grotesque assimilation of parts no one could call human. They held hands as they started to dance around Desdemona.

"You've lost your hair!"

"I'll take your legs!"

"And I'll have your eyes!"

"You don't need it anymore anyways."

"You are just taking up space."

"No one cares about you."

"Your lost, lost, lost! I'll make you in a pie!"

The creatures called out to her. The creatures lunged forward then and all started to tug at her. "Give it to me!" the grotesque children cried. "You don't need them! No one remembers you! You've faded away forever!"

Then as suddenly as they appeared, they vanished; leaving Desdemona alone once more in the darkness that slowly pressed in on her and started to suffocate her a little. "You are part of the darkness now. Lost, lost, lost in the fog. No one will hear you scream. No one cares enough to save you. Who would care about you, Desdemona? You are all alone. No one wants you. that's why you are here. I am going to punish you for living. You don't deserve the breath in your lungs," came the voice that sounded much like her parents. "We should have never had you in the first place. "Enjoy being Alone."

The forest slowly came back into view but all sounds were gone. Not a single living soul remained in it. The silence was deafening. As Desdemona walked, she came to a solitary little house with all the lights off. It was an old house, damaged by the weather. The floorboards creaked and the wind that passed through gave a mysterious whistle. It beckoned her to move forward, to come inside.
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