A snippet from an old dream of mine. I wrote this when I was 18!
A narrow alley snakes through a dark neighbourhood , and a tall, gangly figure stands at the end of it. It frightens her, but she continues to walk forward. She can feel her pulse in her throat, and her hands are quivering and drenched in sweat. She tries to persuade her legs to stop walking but they continue to slowly march forward towards the figure at the end of the alley.
She can feel that a mural of fear is painted across her face. What is at the end of the alley? Why must she go forth and discover it? Her neck melts deep into her shoulders as she bows her head down. She must keep her eyes on the pavement so she can grasp onto her sanity. She has just taken her 40th step towards the figure at the end of the alley. Her eyes are glued to her shoes, and she begins to walk faster. Faster. Faster. 43. 49. 52. She understands that the end is near but her neck will not reappear and her head will not sit upright. She can’t see what is in front of her and she becomes rigid with fear of the unknown. 56. 58. 60.
She drops to her knees and starts to crawl forward. She feels no pain as her knee caps smash against the rocky pavement. She wants to turn around and run away but her body drags her along the alley. Her palms rip open from the rocks and broken glass on the ground. There is blood everywhere. She can see it streaming through the crevices of her fingers and dripping down onto the ground. She can’t feel the wound so she ignores it, and continues to crawl. Why can’t she lift her head up? She created this world in her subconscious where nothing makes any sense, but she’s almost there.
She slowly regains the strength in her neck and she brings her chin up to her shoulders. There is a pair of spindly legs standing directly in front of her. She slowly starts to stand up. She brings her right leg up first, maintaining balance with her hands still on the pavement. She is still terrified. She stands up to look at the figure but the figure is faceless. Her mouth is dry and she can’t speak, although she tries. She reaches out to touch the figure by caressing its cheek. Her hand is moving in slow motion as her fingertips quiver slightly from fear and intrigue. The faceless angel is dirty, but has skin that is cashmere soft. She feels a sense of calm wash over her. She is safe.The figure reaches out to touch her arm and its touch was cool, and damp. After a few very short seconds of intrigue and intense emotions from her discovery, she finds herself at the beginning of the winding alley again. Everything turns to black and white and the alley melts back into blackness. The figure disappears, and her wounds heal instantly. Everything is dark, and forver dark it shall remain, until the sun rises once again.