Hannah tossed and turned, her legs tangled in the blankets. Nightmares of gargantuan spiders destroying buildings and washing streets in rivers of blood plagued her. Hannah ran through the streets, chasing the sounds of a bleating goat, but she never caught up. Always just at the corner ahead, she would catch a glimpse of a white tail, or a black hoof, but once she got there all that was left was a distant bleat at the next corner. At her back, the spider crashed through skyscrapers, closing the distance. Hannah gnashed her teeth in frustration and they all shattered. Even as she spit the broken enamel pieces out, her teeth reappeared in her mouth, comfortably set within her gums. This is a dream, she told herself. I can control dreams. Aunt June taught me how. Hannah stopped running and willed herself to Bridget’s location. The bloody landscape shifted, and she stood next to the goat, just as the monstrous spider sunk its fangs into the animal. Hannah shot to sitting, eyes wide, screaming. Her room was usually pitch dark, but the bathroom light was on, flooding the hall with illumination, a trickle spilling into her room through the nearly closed door. She screamed until her breath ran painfully out. Panting, she untangled her legs and climbed out of bed. Sweat had soaked her lower back and under her breasts, and her t-shirt clung to her in an uncomfortable way. Pulling at the garment to free it only let cold air in and she shuddered from the sudden chill. She stretched her back, one vertebrae snapping loudly in the midnight dark. She squinted her eyes as she opened the door, and the hall light, though only a dim bulb, was suddenly bright. Hannah wondered why it was on as she stumbled into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, her breath caught. Her once brown eyes were now flecked with electric blue. The blue dots seemed to give off their own flickering light, as if a small candle flame sat within her eyes. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, the veins standing out in stark indigo contrast and new lines framed her eyes and mouth. It was as if she had gained ten years. The dried blood surrounding her eyes was a rusty mask of accusation. Her hands were still encrusted with dirt and blood. She had buried Bridget with nothing more than her hands, it had seemed the right thing to do, and now most of her nails were broken and torn, the tips of her fingers crackling with dried blood. Yanking the hot tap on, she washed her hands and face. And washed. And washed again. Even after she looked clean, she kept washing over and over, her mouth a grimace of pain and despair, fresh tears coming. Exhaustion finally won over, and she sank to the floor, sobs racking her body. She cried until the tears stopped, wished she could cry more, and punched her leg when they wouldn’t.
Posted on: Fri, 02 Jan 2015 19:24:20 +0000
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