Sleep, when you think about it, is like a false death or a little death. Unconsciousness extends to hours of bliss or nightmares, leaving one ignorant and inert, unaware of where one is. The awakening is what breaks the said 'death', pulling one out of the depths of their own mind to throw them into the real world. For a moment or so, I often think about it, the lines must blur; life and death, slumber and consciousness, real and unreal. From this moment rises a new you, one who is slightly different, slightly renewed.
I always understood sleep in that manner. You wake up with a bruise you didn't have before, you wake up with a new pimple, you wake up with more hair on your pillow than yesterday, you wake up feeling more tired than you did when you went to bed, you wake up from a vivid dream of a life so much better than your reality, you spend the rest of the day trying to forget it. I think of waking up as a door to a new day. What you'll find in that new day is shown when your eyes open, its symptoms etched onto you. I've lived through life enough to expect some things from how waking up leaves me feeling.
The 'mark' left me confused. For a good 5 minutes, I sat and recalled what had happened that night. Was I with someone? Was I drunk?
Who was I kidding? I hadn't been drunk in forever. That line of thought is for people who have friends to go out with.
I was sober. I came home alone, had leftovers and went straight to bed. Nothing that explained a strange tattoo that looked like a cursive 'U' or 'V' could have happened. I tried wiping it off, washing it out; nothing worked. It stayed there, dark and crisp, a part of my skin. It didn't hurt or even have any visible redness around it, almost as if it had always been there. But I knew it hadn't.
I might have been able to get it off my mind if I had anything to do, but it was a day off. All the time in the world to think about it. But what was the point? I couldn't get to any conclusion anyway. How did it get there? Who did it? What was the purpose of it? All questions hung before me like carrots on a stick too high for me to grasp.
I ate cereal for breakfast, even though I told myself to make something nice for once. I stayed at the table for way too long, staring blankly at whatever my phone showed me, locked in a hypnotic stillness until the clock threatened with hours slipping out of my grasp. I heeded, moving around to go about the chores that I had perfect excuses to avoid throughout the week in a lethargic pace. And when my mind found no place to rest, it wandered down to the mark on my wrist.
I wondered what it could mean. Maybe if I had known, I would have thought of something to do. Although, even if I did, there was nothing I could do.
Clouds took over the sky right around noon, just when the clothes were done washing. The gloom must have taken over me as all I did for who knows how long was pace around the tiny apartment I reluctantly called home before ending up standing before the window, staring out. Grey, wistful swathes hung over the big city; city of the future, city of dreams— all those names and a single, cloudy day dwarfed it before its sombre glory.
The longer I watched those clouds, the more anxious I grew. For what reason, I couldn't tell. Nausea rose upon me, sweat threatening to spill through my skin but not doing so, paralysed in a state of limbo, just like the weather. My insides felt corrupt, leaving an intense drive to spill it out somehow, erase it, cleanse myself of it.
The houses around were quiet, the only sound in the neighbourhood being that of some vehicles passing by occasionally. For once, I lamented the quiet. I had always wished so desperately for it, cursing the kids for all their screaming, laughing, crying, shouting, stomping and playing around the neighbourhood. I was never a bitter person. I never hated children. But the quiet I got to enjoy on days like these was something precious, and anyone to break it made my blood boil. And now, for some reason, I found the quiet nerve-wracking.
The clock seemed to tick louder in the deathly silence, forcing me to do something about the wet laundry festering in the washing machine. Like a marionette, I got to work, hanging and laying the clothes on whatever surface provided the passage of air around them. The clothing rack wasn't sufficient. I would've made lunch, but the nausea made me stay out of the kitchen. I never liked to cook anyway, but takeout was slowly eating away at the peanuts I earned. Going out with colleagues was no better. Somehow, it always ended with me paying for everyone. Fastest way to end my appetite. I was never a miser but constantly ending up with empty pockets after every outing would make anyone resentful.
I couldn't see the Sunset. All around me were tall buildings blocking the Sun at its best hours. Sunset to me was a splash of greyish orange towards the west. Today, it was dull purple, the kind that makes your mouth twist in a snarl, almost like a large bruise or mold sprawling across the sky. It made me want to reach up and tear it down, and the thought alone made my fingertips tingle with disgust. The sight of that nasty shade slowly fading as the dark veil of night spread should have made me relieved, but it only made the sense of doom settle further into the cavity of my torso.
How deceptive time is, rushing forward with no mercy when it wishes and slowing to a suffocating halt when it wishes. I didn't realise when the day passed, but when my eyes landed by chance on the clock proudly counting down each last second of my life, I could only beg for it to speed up. I didn't want to suffer, I didn't want to die— at least not so soon. But death was sweeter than the agony I was put through for reasons I couldn't dare ask about.
It came to me all of a sudden but not at the same time. I expected something, something bad, for sure, when the mark on my wrist began to tickle under my skin. Not long after that, it itched and burned. I scratched and scratched and scratched until blood came trickling out around it, but the mark remained unharmed, pristine. I knew it was over for me then, when my nails, all bloody and full of dead skin, would simply glide over the warm, wet liquid coating my forearm.
My vision was blurry from tears, which obscured the figure that seemed to manifest in the middle of my living room. I kept scratching, growing positively desperate to get rid of the mark. It stayed, pitch black ink engraved into my flesh. I broke down and slid to the floor as the looming figure, cloaked in white and gold, approached. It probably had a head and a pair of arms, but it didn't use them to lift me off the floor. I kept my head hung, even as screams erupted from my throat; I didn't dare look up.
I didn't realise when the lights went out— or perhaps I had never turned them on the whole day— but it was dark. At least, it was supposed to be. Besides the lightning that shrieked between the blanket of clouds pouring down rain, there was a bright, off-white glow so strong it could blind me easily if I hadn't been staring at my arm the whole time. Even in mid-air, I was below the cruel deity that inflicted that pain on me. When the mark burned so hot it began glowing through the bloody mess I had made of it, I gave up, dropping my spent hand to my side.
Why was it doing this? What did it have to gain from me? Why did it choose me? I hoped my eyes conveyed those questions as I lifted them to gaze upon it. I fought the light through newfound tears only to see indifference in the fully black eyes, a void so vast yet tiny enough to be held within the walls of my home. There was no malice in those 'eyes', only an aloof responsibility. For me.
My ribs cracked under the invisible pressure, the rest of my insides flaring up— muscles turned magma and organs, lava. My throat had never felt so raw before as it did in that moment until it was silenced on its own. I pitied myself for the failed whistling sounds my broken throat made, although I didn't have to bear it for long as my ears started bleeding along with my nose and mouth. There was something coming out of me, besides all the blood that splattered all over, something invisible but so very tangible. A part of me— how big, I could not tell. The bright one ripped it out of me, separating the ugly from the ideal.
I understood. I didn't want this to happen, but I understood. The corruption, the impurities had to go, to be thrown out. A horrid night would result in renewal, in the perpetuation of a better, purer form. I may have accepted it in those final moments. The sky had quieted down after a great storm, creating space for me to lament the tantalising click of the second's hand and the sparse, shallow breaths that leaked out of my respiratory tract. I wanted to let it all go, to go unconscious into the gentle arms of sweet slumber. My eyes shifted around to take in the sight of home one last time.
Soon, I would be renewed, perfect. But the stains of those removed impurities would be carried by the place, by the clothes soaking in my blood, and that would be all that was left of the me that existed before the blurring of the lines. That was enough. If I closed my eyes, death was a certainty, but so was the awakening of a new me. A renewed me.
A/N: This is a little something I wrote for a monthly writing prompt, it being "A character wakes with a strange mark on their arm." Credit to @the-kingofdoritos for the prompt!
Today's the day! She thought to herself giddily as she put her final suitcase in the trunk of her car.
James and I have been excited for our cabin date for months! She grins ear to ear as she slams the trunk closed.
Annie had met James on a dating app roughly 10 months ago. They've been talking for awhile, but meeting up just never seemed to happen. When one was free, the other was busy. Classic.
Annie scrambles into the driver's seat and clicks her seat belt in. Shit. She says out loud before unclicking the seat belt. I forgot something
She runs back to the front door of her apartment building and is cut off by the creepy guy who lives a few doors down on her floor, Scooter.
You going on a trip? He asks breathily. Need somebody to watch your apartment for ya?
No thank you, Scooter. she says in the same annoyed voice that she uses everyday with him, avoiding eye contact as she squeezes past him hastily. Annie jogs upstairs, her breasts bouncing with each step. She looks over her shoulder. No Scooter. Good.
She unlocks her apartment door and runs to the bedroom. There you are she whispers as she grabs her soft suede purse James had bought and sent her on her 19th birthday last month. She unzips the top and peeks in. Lube, condoms, a butt plug and her favorite vibrator. Can't forget these. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he sees I find a nice use for the purse.
Annie starts to head out her front door again and notices Scooter skulking down the hall, looking in her direction. Scooter quickly pretends to be looking for something on the ground.
Ugh. She goes back inside and grabs her serrated pocket knife that she inherited from her grandfather, sheathing and tucking it in her jeans pocket before heading back out the door.
She speed walks past Scooter, his breathing wet and heavy. Have fun, Little Annie.
GPS says 20 more minutes until I reach the cabin she grins uncontrollably, bouncing in her seat, her favorite YouTube Playlist on a loop.
I hope he's just as nice in person as he is online. I wonder if he'll be weirded out by my sex stuff. Did we ever talk about kink? Am I too excited? Oh God, am I going to scare him off??
Her bouncing enthusiasm leaving her as paranoia and fear of rejection start to set in.
15 more minutes till the cabin.
Shit SHIT should I turn around? No, I can't do that to him, he's probably already waiting for me. Maybe he'll be understanding? Maybe he'll think it's hot? Maybe he'll--
BANG
Annie let out a scream as her car begins to shakily veer to the left. Knuckles white, she tries to fight the car to pull in the other direction, but it's no use.
BANG
Annie had never been in a car accident before. Hopefully this tree has insurance she groans, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. She looks up at the GPS on her phone. I'm not terribly far, maybe he can come pick me up. She starts to smile What a cute way to officially meet. As she reaches for her phone, the screen dimmed with the 5% battery warning.
OK, maybe I'll have time to get ahold of him and he can come get me. She calls him, no answer. 4%. She tries once more in vain. 3%
Fuck. Annie opens her glovebox to find that she forgot to pack a car charger. FUCK.
She sighs, defeated, before opening her car door and stepping out. She walks over to inspect her blown tire. She screams out in frustration. She tries to call one more time. Nothing. 2%
She opens the trunk and tosses all of her bags to the ground to pull out her spare tire. As she turns around, she could've sworn she saw a tall dark figure disappear behind a tree. She stares in that direction, scanning for motion.
God, I'm stressed...
Annie lugs the tire and jack over to change out the damaged one and gets to work, her phone on the ground next to her in case James calls back.
She gets the car off of the ground when suddenly, she's shoved against the car from behind. The car falls off of the jack, flat tire pinning her right hand to the ground. She let's out a blood curdling scream before a hand wraps around the back of her head to cover her mouth. She continues to scream through cold fingers.
Shhh shhh I'm so sorry, so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, a familiar voice. A calming voice.
James?? She tugs at her trapped hand in vain. She tries to turn her head to meet his gaze, but has her head sternly turned away and slammed into the car door.
Ow! What're you doing?! She protests. James, my hand is stuck under the car, this isn't funny! Help me!
She feels his cold hand follow her arm down to her hand, tender from pain. She can feel him breathing in the back of her neck, making her shiver and get a tiny bit wet.
He chuckles quietly in a smooth sexy tone before tracing his hand back up her arm to her neck, caressing it gently.
She squirms but doesn't fight back. James, we can have fun later, her voice shaking, I'm really scared and I think my hand is broken. Can we please just--
She gets cut off by the sound of her phone ringing. Sliding her face against the car door, she glances down at the caller.
It was James.
Wait- is all she can muster before feeling his caress quickly become a grasp. Realization sets in as she let's out a weak scream, coming out as a gurgle. She struggles, flailing in all directions as she feels another hand rubbing her crotch through her jeans. She can feel herself getting reluctantly wetter as her consciousness starts to fade. Her phone dies mid ring.
With the last bit of energy, she manages to pull her hand free. Grabs the knife from her waistband and slashes at the hand on her throat.
Aargh! You stupid cunt! The voice growled, becoming more warbled. Less human. Annie whips her head around just long enough to see 2 pairs of glowing white eyes from the silhouette. Her eyes widen in horror before 3 more arms emerge from the creature, 1 on each of her thighs, forcing her legs apart for the original hand to force its way into her jeans, the last hand wrestling the knife away from Annie, weak with fear.
The knife hits the ground with a dull clang as she gives up on fighting. This is it she thought. Killed by a monster in the woods. The thought makes her even wetter.
She avoids looking this creature in the eye. She feels her jeans start to rip from having 2 more hands start to aggressively tug them down from her hips.
Annie moans softly closing her eyes, accepting her fate but not wanting to look. She let's out a small yelp as these hands tear her jeans completely off, leaving her with just her panties and a blue button up.
Before she can react, the 6 hands lift her up off of the ground with ease. 1 on either wrist, ankles, 1 on her throat and 1 plunging it's fingers deeply into her pussy.
She writhes and squirms in vain as each hands grip tightens, pulling her body more and more taught. 4 fingers inside of her hole, the thumb rubbing at her clit while completely suspended. The grip around her throat tightens just as she feels herself cum, letting out a gargling moan, her face turning red. She can feel her soaked cunt dripping down her legs and splashing onto the dirt below her. The thumb rubs faster. Harder. She tries to scream only to be met by a tighter grip. Her vision blurs as her fingers reach out frantically, unable to move anything else. She cums again, tears flooding her cheeks.
The grip on her throat loosens slowly before completely letting go. She screams, coughing, gasping for air. She looks toward her assailant, unable to think.
Are you having fun, Little Annie?
Her eyes widen in horror, before she can let out another scream, the hand quickly finds it's way back to the hand marks on her pretty little neck.
No, please, i-
It's useless. She's reduced to an airtight gargle. She sobs mutedly as the thumb that was on her clit disappears into her cunt completely. Fisted. By a monster in the woods. The mere thought brings her to climax once more. She feels herself welling up, trying to push the hand out of her, but it did not budge.
Are you having fun, Little Annie?
Another arm slowly emerges from behind the creature. Reaching towards her button up and slowly undoing each one.
Losing oxygen to her brain, all she can do is lie limp and be used. The hand in her cunt thrusting in and out, Her eyes roll in the back of her head, cumming over and over, her pussy clenching on it's wrist, certain that this was her final moments before the creature loosens it's grip once more.
Annie gasps desperately, sobbing loudly and hoarse.
Why why why whyyyyy? Her voice shakes quietly as the hand that once occupied her neck is now caressing her cheek sweetly.
