Note: This is an abstract short prose I wrote based off a traumatic nightmare I had about a year ago. The story is rather close to the original dream, so it may not make very much sense. WARNING for blood, violence, and sensitive material.
Blue and red.
Blue and red.
Blue and red.
Red –
Dark, cold orbs eye a crowd of white coats and blue masks. With each quiver of a hand, sheets of paper rustle, twitch, then fall still again.
– Scarlet –
Strands of black hair - plastered to a rain-drenched face - obscuring dark eyes. White noise transform into a sea of whispers.
“Who could have done this, who could have done this?”
Indeed, who could have done this…
Breathe. Then an exhale.
Who?
.
It’s YOU.
..
Arms raise and a sea of paper follow, corners jerking up into the stiff air.
Fold, folding, and slow and calm.
A writhing body screams silently.
Folding corners and sides, and morphed into blades. Pointed tips slant downwards, hovering.
The arms whisk down, and blades fly.
A writhing body stiffens in agony.
…
Quivering hands, fingers twitching, violent and sporadic as scarlet drizzled and pooled. Paper crumpling, losing form, unfolding. Luminescent white, stained red.
Spilt over gymnasium walls and floors, skin painted with crimson. Lacerations, gashes, a throat dangling from a string of paper dolls. Unrecognizable face, cut up and pale – yet, just as malevolent and twisted.
Mute, hands clench into fists. Papers scrunch into ragged clumps, bloody tips staining, spreading. A breath, void of warmth, seething into bleak silence.
Breathe. Then an exhale.
….
Cobblestone steps whirl outwards onto cobblestone streets. Humid air, alive with a carmine fragrance. Soft chattering, like young sparrows, flow through narrow pavements. A pale yellow sky bleeds through empty space above.
Feet drag along stones, lagging behind the chatter. Eyes cast downwards, trailing over grey, and grey.
A glance up, squinting with brows furrowed, and dark pupils glimpse carmine.
…..
A breeze, weaving through, and flowing red cloths. A warm, rosy fragrance drifts, illuminating the rugged grey.
Eyes stare, dark no longer, and the chatters disperse. Pocketed hands reach out, grasping, fingertips barely grazing the vibrant fabric –
Silence crashes through, and the cloths, dimming, shiver and sway.
……
Breath hitching, face darkening, panic rousing. The world stilled and silence grew deafening. Feet shuffle and shakily stumble onto narrowing paths. Walls cluster around, dust creeping out the cobblestone cracks.
A wooden door, swung wide open, invite uncertain steps.
…….
Hands approach a lonesome wooden table, gripping a black video tape. A shiver down a spine, a ribcage contracting, a heart palpitating.
Nausea.
Fingers press the tape into a player, and a grainy recording flickers to life.
……..
Murky figures set up a camera. A figure is tied onto a steel table, ropes digging into their skin tightly. They cry out loud and beg for mercy as a pair of metal scissors glinted in the sickly yellow light.
A silhouette towered over the bound figure.
An unrecognizable face sneered maniacally, malevolent and twisted.
Metal tools jabbed at the tied up figure, prompting pinpricks of blood to surface and drip.
“Look at it. It’s crying.”
The figure wailed with fear as cold metal sunk into their flesh; as numerous pairs of callous hands pushed and pulled at their bare body, wrenching and twisting body parts like knobs on wind-up toys.
“Who could have done this, who could have done this?”
Who?
The malevolent and twisted.
………
Nausea,
Nausea,
Blood running cold, hands clasping at a gaping mouth, stomach pulsing. Black hair falls over wide eyes. Fingernails claw against skin.
The recording froze, distorting. Dark eyes fixed upon the bound figure.
It’s you.
It’s YOU.
……….
A distant alarm, blaring, gripping the air strenuously.
