Post by Vix on May 18, 2010 15:24:24 GMT -5
Nightmares. Everyone has them.
Every once in a while something will trigger the unconscious mind to twist some action, some person, some scene into a warped mess of emotion, leaving it’s victim terrified. Usually they wake in a cold sweat, clutching at their bed sheets, their thoughts wild and rampant at what they had just experienced in their sleep. Usually they will be able to lull themselves back to slumber, although it may be an uncertain one.
Vynessa Hargrave was no different than anyone else, as much as she prided herself to be. She may have been a cruel torment to the people around her in her waking moments, but her own dreams repaid the favor back. They happened so frequently that she knew what to expect, knew the hopelessness and despair that came with them, so fear in that aspect was not the problem. No, what horrified her was the fact that the nightmares she experienced might actually be truth. Fragmented bits of her unrecalled past that were desperately trying to remind her.
Tonight was one such night, and she began to toss and turn in her bed as the all too familiar dream started to play.
The sun was bright, so bright it made her close the shutters, although that ever persistent light still filtered in between the slants. Most would be grateful that Aion had blessed them with another sun kissed day. But not her. She hated the brightness, it only seemed to accentuate the colors …crimson blood dripping down ivory white…that she should could never fully appreciate anymore, would never see again in the vibrant brilliance.
Not that it mattered anymore.
She slowly started to walk the familiar path of the house. Everything was the same, but nothing was. Her hands touched the furniture one by one: the sofa…I always fell asleep with her in my arms…, the chair…he loved to read…, the fire place mantle….remember the pictures...the chest that was overflowing with toys and books…Anya loved that bear…And each memory that came with the furniture only seemed to reaffirm what she knew she needed to do.
Somehow she had ended up in her bedroom. Once again, she began to touch the furniture, the dresser, the four poster bed with only one side slept in, the night table… Her hand lingered, slender fingers wrapping around the handle of something long and sharp. Slowly, the knife was brought up, it’s silver blade glinting in that damn sun. Slipper clad feet moved to the floor length mirror, and she stared at herself. The long, auburn hair matted, unbrushed, unkempt. Her face drawn, haggard, and pale. A disgusting and sad sight. Almost as repulsive …bright pain, tears of blood… as her actions.
By this point, Sleeping Vynessa was sweating profusely, her face twisted in a grimace, knowing what was coming and yet still dreading it. Dreading the questions she would wake up with.
Her fingers tightened around the knife, and without even looking down, she sank the blade into her wrist. Not faltering, not even crying out in pain, the knife dug in deep and began to drag lengthwise up her forearm. Big splatters of blood rained down onto the ground, sinking into the wood and staining it. Still unrelenting, she yanked the blade out of her arm and repeated the action on her other one, trying to steady her grip. There was no pain, only relief at this point. A welcome relief that actually brought a smile to her lips…
…That is until she heard the familiar cry, “Mommy!”
She spun around from the mirror, the knife tumbling from her hands. She tried to call out but no words could be formed, and all that was in front of her was an empty room. She began to run, feet nearly slipping the blood. She wanted to yell, but couldn’t form words, as if her voice was gone. So she tore down the hallway, throwing open the doors. Tears had begun to fall but not from the deep gouges on her arms. But from the constant torment that had befallen her since…
She hadn’t even reached the end of the hallway, when the blood loss finally started to override her adrenaline rush. Her steps slowed, and she collapsed to her knees. Despite even this, she tried to crawl out in the living room, leaving bloody marks along the floor. Her crawling soon came to a stop though, and she dropped completely to the ground. The sunlight seemed even brighter than before, causing her to use what little energy she had left to lift one blood soaked arm, and shield her eyes from it.
This was it.This was what she had sought, what she deserved. So why was it she couldn’t even be granted a peaceful death? Was it just another selfish wish? And as the last of her life slipped from her body, she finally managed to speak, the words low and cold.
“Aion damn you all.”
Every once in a while something will trigger the unconscious mind to twist some action, some person, some scene into a warped mess of emotion, leaving it’s victim terrified. Usually they wake in a cold sweat, clutching at their bed sheets, their thoughts wild and rampant at what they had just experienced in their sleep. Usually they will be able to lull themselves back to slumber, although it may be an uncertain one.
Vynessa Hargrave was no different than anyone else, as much as she prided herself to be. She may have been a cruel torment to the people around her in her waking moments, but her own dreams repaid the favor back. They happened so frequently that she knew what to expect, knew the hopelessness and despair that came with them, so fear in that aspect was not the problem. No, what horrified her was the fact that the nightmares she experienced might actually be truth. Fragmented bits of her unrecalled past that were desperately trying to remind her.
Tonight was one such night, and she began to toss and turn in her bed as the all too familiar dream started to play.
The sun was bright, so bright it made her close the shutters, although that ever persistent light still filtered in between the slants. Most would be grateful that Aion had blessed them with another sun kissed day. But not her. She hated the brightness, it only seemed to accentuate the colors …crimson blood dripping down ivory white…that she should could never fully appreciate anymore, would never see again in the vibrant brilliance.
Not that it mattered anymore.
She slowly started to walk the familiar path of the house. Everything was the same, but nothing was. Her hands touched the furniture one by one: the sofa…I always fell asleep with her in my arms…, the chair…he loved to read…, the fire place mantle….remember the pictures...the chest that was overflowing with toys and books…Anya loved that bear…And each memory that came with the furniture only seemed to reaffirm what she knew she needed to do.
Somehow she had ended up in her bedroom. Once again, she began to touch the furniture, the dresser, the four poster bed with only one side slept in, the night table… Her hand lingered, slender fingers wrapping around the handle of something long and sharp. Slowly, the knife was brought up, it’s silver blade glinting in that damn sun. Slipper clad feet moved to the floor length mirror, and she stared at herself. The long, auburn hair matted, unbrushed, unkempt. Her face drawn, haggard, and pale. A disgusting and sad sight. Almost as repulsive …bright pain, tears of blood… as her actions.
By this point, Sleeping Vynessa was sweating profusely, her face twisted in a grimace, knowing what was coming and yet still dreading it. Dreading the questions she would wake up with.
Her fingers tightened around the knife, and without even looking down, she sank the blade into her wrist. Not faltering, not even crying out in pain, the knife dug in deep and began to drag lengthwise up her forearm. Big splatters of blood rained down onto the ground, sinking into the wood and staining it. Still unrelenting, she yanked the blade out of her arm and repeated the action on her other one, trying to steady her grip. There was no pain, only relief at this point. A welcome relief that actually brought a smile to her lips…
…That is until she heard the familiar cry, “Mommy!”
She spun around from the mirror, the knife tumbling from her hands. She tried to call out but no words could be formed, and all that was in front of her was an empty room. She began to run, feet nearly slipping the blood. She wanted to yell, but couldn’t form words, as if her voice was gone. So she tore down the hallway, throwing open the doors. Tears had begun to fall but not from the deep gouges on her arms. But from the constant torment that had befallen her since…
She hadn’t even reached the end of the hallway, when the blood loss finally started to override her adrenaline rush. Her steps slowed, and she collapsed to her knees. Despite even this, she tried to crawl out in the living room, leaving bloody marks along the floor. Her crawling soon came to a stop though, and she dropped completely to the ground. The sunlight seemed even brighter than before, causing her to use what little energy she had left to lift one blood soaked arm, and shield her eyes from it.
This was it.This was what she had sought, what she deserved. So why was it she couldn’t even be granted a peaceful death? Was it just another selfish wish? And as the last of her life slipped from her body, she finally managed to speak, the words low and cold.
“Aion damn you all.”