Terror of the Flames.

Something isn't right. I feel like I'm deaf. No, not deaf, like I'm under water. Every sound is distant and muffled. Still, something more is wrong. I am suddenly afraid, terrified. What could be happening? I open my door and a wave of intense heat knocks me back. I can hear again - the alarms, the screams, the crackling of the fire's hungry voice. Emerging from the flames I see a figure, a silhouette holding a knife, making his way towards me. A scream escapes my lips as I fling the door shut.  Where is my knife? I run, search, scared. I forget to breathe. Where is it? There's no time, I hear him at the door. As it opens I race toward the window, flinging it open. I feel the frosted air on my face, I'll be safe once I get out, I just have to run. Hope makes my heart skip a beat, but it skips another when I feel the hot hand on my leg, pulling me roughly back through the window, away from life. I roll over and see his face. That face that will never leave me. It's horrifying, terrifying, and I am so scared I can't even scream. I see the knife and kick out as hard as I can. A hit, square in the chin. As he reels I scurry back towards safety, feeling the cool air on my face again.But still, I'm not fast enough, I'm never fast enough.He finds a hold on my leg once again and I try to scream. Nothing comes out, I'm just being pulled in again. I feel his blade in me, cutting deep into my back. It's searing hot, the blade of the devil. He pulls it out and I turn to face him again. Not for long though. I barely have enough time to shed a tear before his blade slams down through my skull.

And I wake up.My heart is racing in my chest, pounding away as if it meant to break through my ribs. I cannot breath, and I do my best to not scream. The "not scream" part gets easier with every time I wake up from this terror playing out in my skull, behind my closed lids. I fear, now, that it wont stop.

Bang.

Bang.
Half a second, and you're gone - dead before you hit the ground. My finger hovers over the trigger. In my mind's eye, I see the shot, the explosion of what once was his thoughts, and I see him fall. It happened so slowly, whole seconds until he hit the ground. It was so easy for him. It would be so easy for me, as well. I feel the cold metal on my finger tip. I adjust my grip as I grow weak and it grows heavy, a monster in my hand. Opening my eyes it is gone, and my medicine is in it's place. There is so much, so many to take. I see his face, cold, lifeless, covered in tears. Swallow, one pill down, another hundred to go. Another four make it past my lips and I feel sick. I spit the parasites out into the snow before me. My bare feet are in frozen pain as I shiver, clad in a tank top and shorts. I sit, and welcome the cold into my body as my mind wanders back to him. He must have done the same - welcomed the cold into his mind, that numbness that let him pull the trigger. Tears streak my face as I think of my love, my sisters, my brothers, my friends. I can't take the pain of the cold anymore. I see his blank eyes and run, stopping only just in time at the edge of the cliff. My toes curl around the edge and I feel the wind in my hair. My tears join the churning waters below me. I let my mind loose, all thoughts retreat. I fall. When I first hit the water, it's warm. My body is limp as I fall towards the soft floor. I watch the air escape my lungs in gentle bubbles, they float back to life. It only burns for a minute, then I am calm, I fade to black, thinking of the one. The gun. The blood.
Bamg.

I Feel My Wings.

Every happy moment ends in sorrow - sorrow to see it pass, sorrow for the unexpected. It doesn't have to be that way, though. We can end each happy moment in joyful hopes for the next one. We can wait with a smile on our face. Isn't that the job of an angel? To bring joy and comfort to the world around them? How can an angel do that with a tear in her eye? So said, I swallow hard, and look from the ground to the sky. Rain falls on my face like the softest of kisses. My white dress falls across my skin as I rise from my knees and spread my wings. I feel the wind between my feathers, lifting me off the ground. The rain falls harder on and around me. I close my eyes and treasure the smell, the feel, the sound, the taste. I exhale heavily, a sigh from the soul, and open them again. I'm laying on my bed, the moon shining through my window, and I am alone. I smile, though, because I wait, joyously hopeful for the next time I feel my wings.

Nothing is Real.

I see her again. She has a brother. This time, they stand. Her arms are limp at her sides, grey and blotched - the colors of the dead - and she caries a dark silver knife. Her pale blue-grey dress is again drenched, hanging heavily on her shoulders. Her head is down and her wet hair, full of mange, hangs down to her waist. I see her again. She lifts her head to look at me with eyes sewn shut. She sings with the music box I hear with lips stitched together. I am terrified but I try to ignore her, try to pretend she's not there. Just look away.
Then I see him. He is standing, her brother, perhaps they are twins. His clothes are the same, heavy, pale, blue-grey. His hair is the same black, wet and dirty. His eyes and lips are forever closed, same as hers. They stand so perfectly still. The music box song gets louder as his voice joins them. It's a broken noise. My heart races as I try not to cry. They're going to get me, with all these people around. How do they not see them? They're going to get me.
Frankie nudges me, "Aren't you going to eat?" I can hardly breathe as I shake my head. The song is drowning out the loud sounds of the cafeteria. I feel blood on my fingertips and look down, I'd been scratching my arm again. When I look up he's closer. I feel her breath on the nape of my neck. They are still so motionless. I stand, doing my best not to shake and swallowing hard against the tears, and throw my food away. When I return they're gone.
They are all in my head. Nothing is real. At least I don't scream anymore.