nacht von angst} day three

There's a moment, if only seconds wide, where time seems to stop dead in its tracks. It happens right after my last attack on the boy from two, his left sleeve stained bright red with fresh blood from my knife's blade, and I can barely make out what's happenin' through the blur of adrenaline still makin' its way through my body. I'm sure of nothin' right then, not even what my very own eyes can see, but I know that one truth more than likely exists in the middle of it all. 

Another friend's body now lies with Scotch's at the paws of the coyotes. 

Nobody wants to look, yet we all do. Gabriel of district twelve lies pulsin' on the floor, right arm clutchin' at the left, blood gushin' from one wound too many. I take a step forward towards my fallen ally, my own heart crushed by the so-called model of confidence I'd been throwin' myself after for the last good while, but Kristian holds me back. His touch doesn't hurt much; if anythin', it's cautious, servin' as a reminder of where I am and how I should act. Just as those children murdered Gabriel, they would murder me, too... lettin' my guard down would betray everythin' I'd worked for right up 'til this point. 

I try not to scream as I watch the others run away, their footsteps growin' quieter and quieter as they gain distance between their consciences and the blood that they've shed. My own conscience would tear me apart-- I know that much real certain. But it's obvious at this point that I'm not them and they're not me. I figure that that hurts just as bad. 

Only when the boy who killed Gabriel remains all by himself do I even let myself speak out at all. "That was my friend," I say for the final time. My voice is quiet and filled with hurt, perhaps even similar to how it'd sound broken, but there's no mistakin' the confidence and special care I put into makin' each word sound just right. With a final, pained glance his way, I stumble backwards, runnin' in the opposite direction for as long as my legs will take me.

I hope that other girl remembers what was said to her. 

-

When I finally stop runnin', everythin' looks different than it had back by the river and the tree. Instead of a million dancin' lights and a sunset hand-painted by Ripred as company for the night, I'm greeted by a field of grain, the thick of a storm brewin' in the sky at every direction I look. 

For as long as I can remember, I've been terrified by rain and storms and thunder... everythin' of the like, when the sky gets mad and takes it out on all else. I know that Ripred protects me, and usually, momma is there to remind me of this. But I'm alone now, even without Kristian and most certainly without Gabriel. The fear I thought I'd lost comes tumblin' back down to the pit of my stomach. 

I figure that sleepin' is my best option, and while the grain is dense enough to offer some protection from what's out there, I see a shed similar to my own up ahead that'd offer a much safer haven 'til the storm passes. With nothin' short of haste, I make my way there, hopin' that the first crack of thunder won't break until I'm deep into my slumber. 

I'm not that lucky. 

By the time I make it in the door, the first drops of rain have already made their way down from the heavens. Even though I know what's comin', it doesn't make the fear I feel any less--

CRACK!

And I jump higher than the cow jumps over the moon. Quickly, I set my belongin's down on the wooden floor and rest my head on my backpack. I make note of the sword resting against the doorway-- a sponsorship, I assume, with my name engraved on the blade-- before fully settling down. Kristian will be here soon, I think, and that thought alone gives me enough comfort for the rest I need.

Ripred, bring me peace. 

-

I'm woken up by the feelin' of warm breath on my face, and though my first instinct is to run, I remember what I'd learned yesterday and decide against it. Instead, I open my eyes...

Maybe I should've gotten outta here after all.

The first thing I see is the sharpened smile of a coyote, slobber and dried blood foamin' from the edges of its mouth in terror mere inches away. I scream. Without hesitation, I crawl away 'til there's enough room to stand, but I'm quickly confused by the fact that there's no wooden wall to brace myself against. Instead, I'm once again greeted by the familiar grain of the outdoors...

"Wasn't I inside?" I ask the coyote as it circles around me, not expectin' anythin' but growls and snarls in return. As it starts to head my way again, though, I figure that where I'm at may be the least of my worries. Now's the time to avenge Scotch, I think. Those kids weren't really the coyotes, and this right here is! But as I raise my sword above my head in preparation to attack, somethin' else catches my eye. 

My Scotchie appears through the thick of the grain, his fur blendin' in with the golden-yellow surroundin's just enough to make it seem unreal. 

"Scotchie... baby c'mere.." My voice is tender, and I lower my weapon, instead reachin' out a hand to greet him. "It's me, 'Tunia. I've missed you boy, come 'ere please." But he doesn't move in any way resemblin' recognition... all he does is bare his teeth, snappin' his jaw shut in my direction with a ferocity that my watermelon-sized boy would've never been able to manage. 

It's not him. That's not my dog. 

It's just a trick bein' played on me by the mean folks out in the real world.

And I know this, yet I can't bring myself to attack him... an angel doesn't hurt her friends, no matter how much they hurt her. I throw the sword back and turn my body towards the coyote instead. 

It felt like my ears were broken. The wind roared and a faint ringing plugged my ears. My axe sounded stronger and sharper than it had before; schling the weapon rang as I hit the slithering, crawling demon. I couldn't feel anything, I didn't know anything. The world has turned into a 180; and my eyes didn't seem to be doing as well as my eyes.

In my eyes I saw orange skies and red grass. The colors of everything had been completely opposed and the textures of everything was out of whack. The crawling demon had morphed into this weird, human-like crawling and slithering machine. It had the head of a human- the paws of a hand. Their body wriggling back and forth, clawing and scraping at the ground. Thrashing at anything it could land it's sharpened teeth on, this slimy, squirming human being was nothing pretty to look at.

Petunia's leg was her arm, and my right hand looked like my left, my left looking my right. She took a swing with her leg and stepped with her arms.

{what the fuck}

The world was what only nightmares would be in; and it felt like one. This didn't feel real or look real, but my left handed grip with my right armed body felt real swinging towards the inhumane face of my past. Dakota was the head of this demon, and it was damn right that I had to slay it.

{i'm truly going insane.}

And this was only the third part of my insane nightmare.

[ russian maniac ]