Midnight Moon

Snatching, frostbitten branches whip his face and whirl about in his eyes. The terrified teenager dashes through the freezing, wet forest. Breathing heavy sighs, his vision becomes momentarily shielded by small clouds of iridescent fog, as he exhales. He flies past decaying wood and whatever the late night moon's shadows allow him to perceive. Dashing in and out, up and down, side to side; can he keep this up for much longer? He can hear his hunter's sloppy footsteps, as their enormous feet pound the earth, or is that just the beating of his sorry heart? As his enemies approach closer, his mind commands him to run faster, but with each struggling stride to break away from his enemy, his legs become more tired and jelly-like. His body, as a whole, is breaking apart. He knows he can not keep this up for much longer, or he'll die of a heart-attack.

The Blackness With In

Darkness. The feeling of movement in front of him. A light at the end shining bright. Is it a sign of freedom to a better place? He begins to walk toward it, a warm, comfortable wind flows from the opening. In a blink of the eye the light extinguishes with the warm wind following quickly after. Numbness washes over him. Panic and anxiety begin to well up in him; something large moves out of the opening. He turns to escape. Running down a hall. He turns his head to look behind him. He can see it coming, fast, yet there is no shape, only an inky blackness. He trips over his feet as if he was a child trying to learn to walk. The sensation of falling hits him hard, as does the floor. A warm liquid drips from his mouth. He cannot tell if it is saliva or his own blood. The Blackness laughs as it closes the distance. Its laughter is like that of a baby crying for its milk, piercing and wailing. The sound splits the silence of the hall like a knife. Fear grips his stomach like a vice grip, tightening with every inch of distance that was closed by the Blackness. He could feel the temperature dropping as it came closer. His breath begins to freeze in the air right before him. The fear radiating from it was intensifying. He wanted to run so badly his muscles ached but the legs would not respond to his mental cries. His heart felt like it was going to burst. It was beating so hard that the rib cage felt like it was going to break open and his heart would fly on to the floor. A cold sweat, as pure as snow, sprang from his pores and covered his body adding more to the chill. The Blackness closed in on him like a monolith. He could smell it's rank breath beating upon his senses. The smell reminds him of rotten meat and fresh dog excrement. His life had come to its completion. Death was coming and the Blackness was its hand. The laughter was deafening thunder to him now. It was less then a foot away. Inky tentacles began to stretch out toward him. The first one to touch him was like ice, numbing his leg. At this Matthew awoke to his dark bedroom, his warm covers lying on the floor while his legs were pressed against the cold wall. He was covered in sweat; the idea of the dream hung in the air. Sleep would not come to him for a good hour or two. Matthew pulls the covers back onto the bed. They are twisted and tangled. After struggling for a few minutes, the covers once again cover him, but they are of no comfort. The bottom bed sheet is soaked and it already cold. He pulls the covers closer to him to try and build the heat up once again. The clock blinks two. The sun will not rise for another five hours.