SOMARIUM: dream (recurring nightmare) » 001
Warnings: Blood. Death. Small children getting shot. :|
Takeru, at 10 years old, was old enough to understand the concept of death, but young enough to think of it that something that applied only to other people--old people like his grandmother, or people that didn't live in nice houses, with caring parents and annoying sisters that tried to dress you up in doll clothes when you were three.
Like his annoying sister lying face-down on the floor in a pool of her own blood, blank eyes open and staring right at him. A strangled cry rose up in the back of Takeru's throat, the reek of blood and something acrid and burning that the young boy couldn't hope to place combining and making him sick. He couldn't help it--he doubled over and threw up on the floor, gagging and sobbing.
Then he heard something breaking in the living room. His father's raised voice, pleading and desperate and afraid, and Takeru couldn't place why on earth his father would be scared and that in turn scared him. His father was brave, his father was strong. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable.
Then the loud crack, echoing through the house, a sound completely unlike anything young Takeru had ever heard, followed by the shattering of more glass--and his father's startled, strangled shout. And that word he recognized. It was his mother's name.
Takeru ran. His sister's room wasn't all that far from the living room, but the familiar hallways were dark and close and suddenly terrifying, like something out of a nightmare and even worse was the fact that Takeru couldn't remember falling asleep, so that meant that all of this had to be real. That was really Sachi, lying dead in her bedroom. That was really his father, shouting his mother's name.
That was really his mother, framed by the door and illuminated by a brief flash of lightning outside. That was really his mother, raising a gun to point at his father.
That was really his father, shouting at him to 'run, Takeru, run!' before falling over backwards at the crack of the gun, the same bitter stench as what lingered in Sachi's room filling the air as Takeru stumbled backward, turned and fled, tripping before the door of the hall closet on the backpack his mother had admonished him to pick up earlier when he'd just dropped it next to the door. Desperately, his small hands scrabbled at the doorknob, managing to turn it and duck inside before his mother (his mother why did she have a gun) turned the corner. Takeru tucked himself back into the corner behind one of his father's long coats, sobbing softly and trying desperately to muffle his cries with the back of his hand so he wasn't heard.
His heart nearly stopped when he heard the door creak open, the click of her high heels against the floor, stopping right in front of him. The scraping of the coat hangers being pushed aside, his curtain suddenly gone, and there she was--looking down at him with a slight, terrifyingly vacant smile as if they were playing hide and seek and he'd just been found, nothing more sinister than that.
Then the hand holding the gun raised up, pointing down at him.
"Mother..." Takeru managed, and that was all before that gun fired again, the flash blinding, the sound deafening, and just the slightest delay before the pain, a sudden, piercing pain that tore a shriek from his throat and stole his breath away...
[that shriek carries over as Sena wakes and sits bolt-upright in bed, suddenly and gracelessly, panting hard and clutching at his left shoulder, for a few moments completely unaware of where he is, it doesn't even occur to him to check the dreamberry. That nightmare was nothing new, but it was almost never so vivid, not after so long.]
Takeru, at 10 years old, was old enough to understand the concept of death, but young enough to think of it that something that applied only to other people--old people like his grandmother, or people that didn't live in nice houses, with caring parents and annoying sisters that tried to dress you up in doll clothes when you were three.
Like his annoying sister lying face-down on the floor in a pool of her own blood, blank eyes open and staring right at him. A strangled cry rose up in the back of Takeru's throat, the reek of blood and something acrid and burning that the young boy couldn't hope to place combining and making him sick. He couldn't help it--he doubled over and threw up on the floor, gagging and sobbing.
Then he heard something breaking in the living room. His father's raised voice, pleading and desperate and afraid, and Takeru couldn't place why on earth his father would be scared and that in turn scared him. His father was brave, his father was strong. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable.
Then the loud crack, echoing through the house, a sound completely unlike anything young Takeru had ever heard, followed by the shattering of more glass--and his father's startled, strangled shout. And that word he recognized. It was his mother's name.
Takeru ran. His sister's room wasn't all that far from the living room, but the familiar hallways were dark and close and suddenly terrifying, like something out of a nightmare and even worse was the fact that Takeru couldn't remember falling asleep, so that meant that all of this had to be real. That was really Sachi, lying dead in her bedroom. That was really his father, shouting his mother's name.
That was really his mother, framed by the door and illuminated by a brief flash of lightning outside. That was really his mother, raising a gun to point at his father.
That was really his father, shouting at him to 'run, Takeru, run!' before falling over backwards at the crack of the gun, the same bitter stench as what lingered in Sachi's room filling the air as Takeru stumbled backward, turned and fled, tripping before the door of the hall closet on the backpack his mother had admonished him to pick up earlier when he'd just dropped it next to the door. Desperately, his small hands scrabbled at the doorknob, managing to turn it and duck inside before his mother (his mother why did she have a gun) turned the corner. Takeru tucked himself back into the corner behind one of his father's long coats, sobbing softly and trying desperately to muffle his cries with the back of his hand so he wasn't heard.
His heart nearly stopped when he heard the door creak open, the click of her high heels against the floor, stopping right in front of him. The scraping of the coat hangers being pushed aside, his curtain suddenly gone, and there she was--looking down at him with a slight, terrifyingly vacant smile as if they were playing hide and seek and he'd just been found, nothing more sinister than that.
Then the hand holding the gun raised up, pointing down at him.
"Mother..." Takeru managed, and that was all before that gun fired again, the flash blinding, the sound deafening, and just the slightest delay before the pain, a sudden, piercing pain that tore a shriek from his throat and stole his breath away...
[that shriek carries over as Sena wakes and sits bolt-upright in bed, suddenly and gracelessly, panting hard and clutching at his left shoulder, for a few moments completely unaware of where he is, it doesn't even occur to him to check the dreamberry. That nightmare was nothing new, but it was almost never so vivid, not after so long.]