The Pain, the Numb, and the NightmaresA Story by Westminster Abbey The first of many short stories to come! :)
Pain. Pain is everything. Pain is all that I feel, all that I am. Pain is what I have become. Pain is what I've always been. Pain is everywhere, creeping from my body, to my mind, to my soul, and back again. Tearing apart at my guts, it refuses to leave. Instead, it stays, lingering inside, finding joy in my agony. Pain is my life, all that my mind can register, all that I can think about.
The pain is a fire, burning out what little life to which I still cling. Burning, ravaging, destroying all that I am until there is nothing remaining. Nothing but the pain. The pain is an ocean, and I am sinking in its depths. Choking me, I struggle to breath, but cannot catch my breath through the pain. Drowning. The pain is a tornado, pushing me, pulling me, picking me up and throwing me somewhere new, somewhere agonizing. Tossing me and turning me, I cannot make sense of my surroundings. Only the pain. The pain is the earth beneath my feet, always constant, always there, but never trustworthy. It demolishes, maims, crushes, annihilates, mutilates, extirpates everything that ever sets foot on it. Then it rebuilds it, and the process begins again. Destroying. There is no passage of time, only the pain. I am nowhere; I am sitting, standing, and lying down at the same time. There is no space, only the pain. No time, no space, just pain. Only the pain. Just the pain. Only the pain. Just the pain. Nothing but the pain. My mind can register only the pain. Just the pain, and then the numb. The numb comes from nowhere and everywhere, dulling the pain. I can feel it in my arms and legs. It travels throughout my body, my mind, and my soul, until there is nothing left. Just numb. Only numb. The numb is an ocean. I can feel it, pulling me - no, calling me, beckoning me into its depths. Numb is nothing. Numb offers no pain, an escape route. So I swim deeper. It was the pain that roused me, but it is the numb which lulls me back to sleep. ^^^^ Nightmares. No matter how hard I try, I can't escape them. Fear pulsing through my veins, I try to run, but I cannot move. It's coming after me. I can feel it breathing down my neck, thirsty for the taste of my blood. Suddenly, the dream shifts. I am standing alone in a field of tall grass as far as the eye can see. I do not remain alone for long, however. I can make out a figure a ways away, coming closer at a rapid speed. As it approaches, I realize that this figure is the figure of a man, but not just any man, this man has a face that I recognize, a face that I can trust, a face that I love. He calls out to me, and I run toward him as he runs toward me. But as the distance between us closes in, his face changes, shifting into one of hatred and evil. I recognize this face as well - a face that I both fear and abhor. A loud sound rings in my ears - a gunshot - and the figure collapses. We are close enough now that I catch him as he falls. This face is not the face I hated so much just moments ago, but the face that I have spent many nights with under the stars, the eyes that I gazed into so many times before, the lips that I kissed so many times before. This is the face of the man that I love. Now he lays mortally wounded in my arms, a gun in my hand. His hands clutch around my arms; his breathing becomes shallower; I can see him trying to fight it, but I know he is losing. With his final breath, he gazes into my eyes, now filled with tears, and whispers a single word, "Why...?" And with one last sigh, his grip on my arm loosens and his eyes glaze over. The tears in my eyes spill over, falling onto his cold cheek, as I cry silently, holding the corpse of the man that I love. The man that I killed. The dream shifts again; the man and the gun are gone. Instead, I am on a bedroom floor, still on my knees. I stand up, realizing exactly whose bedroom I am in. The door opens, and there stands the man with the fearsome face. He holds a whip. I contemplate diving under the bed sheets, but I know that will only make the oncoming beating much worse. So I stand, facing the man I know very closely, and do not shout as he tears off my shirt. I am not ashamed that I stand before him in my bra. I do not cry as he cracks the whip on my bare back, where scars have formed before. Instead, I take it; I take it all. I deserve it, after all. The dream shifts. I am standing alone in a grey room. No windows, no furniture, one locked door, and one of single lightbulbs on the ceiling with the chain hanging down. For some reason, I am not surprised when the walls start to close in on me, the door disappearing entirely. But I do panic. My breathing becomes shallow as I realize that I can no longer stretch my arms out all the way. Soon I feel pressure against my chest, and even so, the room continues to shrink. I cannot breathe, the heavy pressure of the concrete walls crushing my ribcage. The darkness of confined spaces. The door is gone, the light is gone. All there is is darkness. Noise fills my ears, a constant pitch, an A I think. The comes the sound of distant voices frantically shouting with a sense of chaos. One single voice gives a shout louder than the others, followed by a loud sort of popping sound, and suddenly I can breathe again. I take in a large gasp, but get more than I expected. The walls are gone, but now I am falling. It is still dark, but light tints the edges of my vision. More air forces its way into my lungs with each breath. Falling, falling, I can't breathe. More shouting, another loud pop, and things are back to normal, more or less. The nightmares continue.
© 2013 Westminster AbbeyAuthor's Note
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Westminster AbbeyWishing I could get out, OKAbout123Friendster.com - More Be Yourself Comments My name is Abbey, that's with an 'e,' like Abbey Road or Downton Abbey. Basically the British spelling. I'm closer to a fangirl than to a nerd. I am .. more..Writing
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