Dream^

My heart throbs. I feel each beat, consecutively shaking. A beat and then the next — faster than I can blink. In this infinite darkness, the very act of blinking merely feels like the fleeting brush of my lashes. At the very least, the circulation of my blood is one very tangible sensation. Narrowing myself in the flesh. The feeling is numbing; like I'm losing the grasp of mental awareness — or reality itself.

All is dark around me, an incredibly dreadful expanse. But perhaps because of this pitch-blackness, bound within its cold strings, I perceive a bright luminescence. The sight feels majestic, slightly farther than me, than the reach of my arms.

A bright silhouette. A back. The chiseled shoulderblades protruding amongst the flesh. The girl is kneeling to the ground. The spine an alluring crease from the waist to the neck. Though quaked by those uncertain surroundings, and the fear in my pulsing heart, and the chill down my spine — I can't help it. This back, white like pure alabaster, whose folds seem to express finesse and grace, charms me.

A single stem of metal slowly sprouts from the thoracic spine — its top a sort of clockwork chaos. Blood surges around its very root, trailing along the skin. The back soon looks like a fountain of blood. Near the top of the metallic stem, are minute triangular pieces like gears grinding together.

My mind might burst any minute now. The sight is surreal and its lethargic slowness takes my breath away. I would shout — were my throat to answer; were my breath to manifest...

The stem divides its topmost extremity in countless shatters, forming arcanic shapes and patterns. As I behold in utter shock, feeling the droplets of sweat exuding from my every fiber... The girl of shining hair now possesses metallic wings — triangles and sharp planes out of the clockwork-like mechanism's alloy. She levitates on her back, oblique to the gravity I perceive. She is unconscious as the wings seem to point toward me.

In dread, I turn back and run — run and run. Sprawling my legs and my arms so far it hurts, I seek a solace wherever the dark may lead me. Though the memory is burnt crisp into my retinae, I cast one more glance over my shoulders — finding this truth unbelievable.

The angelic being flies toward me, always closer and closer. The wings are shining, the deep tinge of crimson blood penetrating my eyes. Within my chest suddenly rouses another sentiment: compassion. A compassion that I cannot explain... Like I witnessed a cruel sacrifice.

The countless, finer stems sprout toward me — were they always such wilting roses? Adrenaline makes it all feel so slow, so distinct and clear. That I will be pierced and massacred. From my throat at last surges a cry filled with fear and agony — as I can feel throughout my nerves the seething pain, the moistness of sweat. My convulsing arms, awakened by the feeling of acute ache, are strangling a shape that molds itself to the grip...

"Light on!" A familiar voice shouts...

Light. The pain gives way to relieving emptiness. Through the blinding thunder, I can hardly, faintly discern shapes. I... am holding my cushion? The soft fabric comforts my heart, as well as the cocooning and cozy warmth of my blanket.

Thuds and sounds reach the confines of my ears, as well as words. Lifting myself with my arms, I can finally distinguish the face of my mother. She approaches with worry. I feel relief now that there is someone by my side — someone I can feel, someone I can touch.

"Did you have a bad dream again?" Her womanly voice strikes me as truly concerned. Looming over my bed, her eyes seem to swallow me whole. I try to find words, but I choke on them all — still profoundly shocked.

"Go back to sleep, my dear."

With those caring words, she cover me with the blanket, her wrinkles a sign of tiredness at so young an age. I feel ashamed. She works inhumane hours at a managing corporation to pay for my high-school, coming late almost everyday...

Mom plants a kiss on my forehead, and leaves, her steps uneven.

I could never tell her. That my nightmares turned out to be true, most of the time. Looking at the dull ceiling, time calls for me to gather my thoughts. What may this vision herald?! A girl whose face I never met, in angelic nakedness. Levitating with metallic wings, powered by a mechanism I'd never even thought possible. Blood — hers; mine...

Because we live at an unprecedented era of development, with games and movies always skyrocketting in terms of realism... Would it be that unbelievable for this amount of immersion to be reached? And yet again, chalking it up on leisure goods and fiction doesn't seem to sit right by me...