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Maybe I am dreaming, yes a dream for what else could this be? This feeling that conjures in my stomach, which causes my insides to free fall—this helplessness feeling. The true world, thought it has dealt me a losing hand time and time again, it could never be this cruel—could it? Prolog
My short black hair hung limply touching my shoulders and my pale skin had slight goosebumped due to the cold, and yet the cold wasn't uncomfortable, it was just there. The blackness fell around me, like I was being swallowed up by some great beast. The sensation wasn’t foreign to me, I had dreamt this before, I was no stranger to the darkness the consumed my mind. Nor the untold horrors that were shrouded by the bottomless color, which now consumed the world of dreams around me.
From the abyss, I heard screams of those I have never met—the charters I create—along with those I hold so dear to my heart. Shinning crimson danced across my vision, bring the noises to life. Patterns of splattering bloods, and the screams met their end as desperate gargles of the dead.
I knew there was more to come.
The darkness shattered—like breaking glass—exploding around me, the shards penetrating deep into my skin. Blinding white floods, the once pure black space, now I am surrounded by empty space. I do not know I could walk forever into the blankness, or if in a step my face will smash into a wall—I had dreamt both before. Soon the blood dripped down for the shattered glass—pooling—to the floor. Once the liquid buried my feet in the warm color, I dropped.
The blood felt like warm water as I dragged through the color. My emotions stay blank. I have lived through this dream oh so many times. Nothing scares about this. I close my eyes, and my body is still—feet planted firmly on the ground.
This is different.
My eyes flittered open, wonder what next horror my mind had constructed to break me. The flickering light of my bathroom greeted me; my palms grew damp with sweat. Breath hastened. The cracked mirror stared with unloving eyes. Copying the world it watched, but could never be a part of. There I stood with blue eyes surrounded by lack of sleep, red from tears. The color of the sky—so free—had changed; so blank, like of the dead.
With no control of myself, I reached and touched my smooth glass, running my hand down it—streaking it. The mirror of myself did the same, running it’s bloodedly hand down the shimmering clear crystal. My heart dropped, smashing into the tilted floor.
The girl in front of me—the mirrored girl—with a face so much like mine, yet different; began to change. Hair tangled and snarled, growing longer, far beyond the gaze of the mirror; her mouth crept into a twisted smile. Head tilted, face shielded with the ratted mess of hair. Color drained from her skin, like water rushing down a river.
The girl and I shared several minutes of silence. Only the flickering of the light counted the time. With a sweet voice, and a childish laughter melody to her words, the trapped mirror girl began singing softly. “Far away from Hushabye Mountain, and far beyond the lullaby bay. There is castle, so bright and burning with light. So enchanting to those who slumber on Hushabye Mountain, they long to play. No one knows of nightmare castle. For those who dare, and travel far, they find a world of horror. And you, my sister, have chosen this. This fate of the light castle—place of nightmares. “
She paused, slamming her palms into the glass. Splitters of the shards exploded from the mirror. Coated with blood, the needles were sent speeding into my skin, sinking in further and further, until I could not seem them. But the cold fragment of glass, like parasites, swam up my veins. Slicing into my internal machines. Falling against the wall, I slammed an open palm against the titled floor. Coughing intently. Chocking on the glass shards which fought up my throat; dragging the meat of my lungs with them. Clasping my hands around my throat, gazed fixed on the trapped girl behind the glass—tears welding behind my eyes.
I knew who she was.
Racking her mangled figure tips down the glass, her voice turned harsh as she continued. “One day there were two girls, twins of girls. Hand and hand they walked towards the light, towards the tunnels end—to life. Together they would start their life upon the other side. But then one day, that darkness came to life, they swallowed up the younger girl. Dragged her away, as she screamed and cried. The older sister, held a hand that was not really there. Did not notice her sister gone, and kept walking towards the light. Left in the darkness, the younger one cried, screaming for her lovely older sister to come and save her. But she screamed in vain and the monsters consumed her. Now she sits. The darkness she has become. Waiting to seek revenge on the one who left her there.”
“I-I-I-I” I choked out, the glass still crawling up my throat—blood filling my mouth. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, I never wanted this to happen. I wish I could switch places with he—always have! If I could trade my life for her own. Oh, I wished I could, with heart and soul. I wanted to give her life. I hated living here without her. Every day, it was always so painful. I wish I could tell her all of this. But the words become caught in my throat. Huge sobs begin rolling down my face. I just wanted to tell her I was sorry, oh, so so sorry.
Opening my mouth to speak again, the lights drained form the world, and something grabbed ahold of my inters, and thrusting them backwards. Pulling my body along with them. The girl in the mirror was whisked away, I felt like I was falling deeper and deeper. Into the same darkness I had woken to in my dreams.
I woke with a jump, lunging upright. Sleep still clinging to my mind; I slammed my fists on the alarm – which had wakened me—knocking it from its perch. Panting, I clasped my chest. I had never once remembered a dream, once I had stirred from it, only the emotions were left in its wake. The same fear that has hunted me all my life. I knew I had always had the same dream, for I always woke with the same feeling of shock and terror. I only wished I knew what they were from. These feeling what could have caused them. I only wonder, what could be so terrifying.
Setting my feet unto the carpeted ground, I pick up the clock, and set it back on top of my nightstand. My hand brushes something cold—I pick it up. Laying the gray thing in the palm of my hand, I wrap my figures around it. “Good morning little sister” I whisper to it, setting in back down. The grave marker I made years ago with the name “Julie” scribbled onto it with childish handwriting is my only link to my younger sister.
Well in fact, I do not know who would be older—me or her—I just have always assumed it as so. Before we were born, she died. My blood father was an abusive man, and because of it my mother lost my sister. I still wonder how life would be if she was there. I do not think I would be the person who I am now. But I do not know if such a thing would be good or bad. I wonder what she would think of me, if we were to ever met.