Hey guys, Tina here!
So as I am getting ready to lay out the next GGGS, I wanted to take a break and share some of my own personal work. I like to write short stories as a way of dealing with my PTSD and bad dreams. I have been working with a Therapist on all of this and she agrees that writing the short stories that I just blast out are a great way to process my emotions and fears. So I am going to work on transferring some of my old work over to this blog but I wanted to see if I could work out a story for today’s post. So, without further ado, I give you my very short story.
Also note, If you want to listen to what I listen to when I write these stories here is the link. My Muse.
Trigger Warning: You are going to be reading something from a really fucked up mind. You WILL read something you don’t like or might make you feel uncomfortable. I want to take the time to say, If you have sensitivities of any kind to stories that have to do with things that might upset you. Don’t read this. Giving a specific would kill the mood of the story so just use your own judgment.
Also, apologies in advance for using ‘bad words’.
I sat up straight from a dead sleep. My head dripping with sweat, my hands shaking. The nightmare had pulled me in once again.
Dreams have always been a burden to me. Taunting me with wishes far out of reach or wrapping my deepest fears around me like a soiled bandage. All the pain and suffering, I could still feel on my arms as I looked them over in the dim light of my flickering tv. No scars, scrapes or bruises to mark the torture I had just endured. My hands were pale and stung from the returning blood. They had lost circulation as I had used them to rest my head on. I flung my legs over the side of the bed and waited a moment for the rest of my mind to understand what I was about to do.
Slowly I stood and started walking off toward the bathroom. I hadn’t pissed the sheets yet but I needed to go. I walked past the dim yellow nightlights that dotted the outlets of the hall. I lived alone so I never risked anyone laughing or questioning my need for light all the time. My feet found the cold, hard tile as I stepped into the bathroom. I reached around on the wall to flip the switch, looking forward at the mirror awaiting my reflection. With the sudden blast of light, I saw a familiar face behind my own just over my shoulder. The face of a very old woman who had lived near my family when I was a child. Her angry furrowed brow dipped down in disappointment.
As suddenly as I gasped at her face, I blinked and she was gone. My lungs were burning as I attempted to take slow steady breaths. I leaned on the frame of the door looking down at my feet. My eyes, searching the darkness behind them looking for any danger. After regaining my mind and breath, I finished walking in and pushed the door closed behind me. I didn’t need to be in there long but I didn’t want the darkness unshielded behind me. Standing over top the bowl with one arm braced on the wall in front of me, I let go of the flood. Wrapping up I tucked everything back into place and turned to the sink to wash up. The sink was filled with a sickly looking brown waste water. As though someone had connected it with a sewer. I shook my head and looked again to see nothing wrong. Fucking nightmares playing tricks on me even now. I couldn’t wait to get back to bed and see what they could come up with then.
I washed up and dried my hands on my towel hung from the door. I flung open the door to find the full figure of the same old woman standing in front of me. I blinked, but this time she didn’t leave. I backed up a bit and pushed the door shut. I moved backward until my ass came in contact with the counter of the sink. Feeling the wetness of the water I turned around to see her face looking back at me instead of my own reflection. Jumping backward, I slammed against the door. Her face had vanished. I felt something brush my foot and looked down to see grasping, bony fingers, skin loosely wrapped around them and wrinkled with age reaching out to touch me. I hauled ass into the tub and sat there crying like a fucking kid for a good half an hour.
Nothing else happened as I carefully maneuvered out of the bathroom and practically ran to my bed. No one to watch as I pulled out my childhood friend Bare bear. The same raggedy old toy I had been given when I was a small child. I sat on the bed, back to the wall, and watched the room for any signs of movement. I started to drift off here or there, shaking myself to be awake and watch for the bitch I knew couldn’t be real.
At some point I had lost to my body’s need for rest. Waking up with the sunlight pouring down on my face. I felt different, the overall heaviness that had been haunting me for days seemed to have vanished. My fears all melted away. I even left Bare bear on the bed, instead of hiding him from anyone who might come around. Not that anyone ever did. I made my way into the living room and sat down on the couch. My tv always on. Fuck the bills, I found ways to keep on lights all around regardless. I sat there for what felt like only mere minutes when I turned and noticed the sun had set. Where had all the time gone?
I walked back down the hall to my bedroom. Keeping an eye on the creeping corners of darkness that were starting to impose themselves. Turning into my room I saw it. The single thing that I had always feared to find. My own body laying on the bed with a rash of pill bottles laying all around and a note neatly folded on the foot of the bed. It had a tear-filled outline of my living horrors and my need for help but inability to find it. I smiled and laid down next to myself. Falling asleep and dreaming of the same nightmares as always. They couldn’t hurt me, cause they weren’t real, but neither was I anymore.