L
Lucy
Guest
This is my dream. A nightmare that I have never before shared with anyone.
Bang! I broke into a run after the short second in which I was frozen with shock. The ground seemed to tremor and echo with every stride I took. I was running furiously, away from the man behind but didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I ran and ran but only managed to edge a few metres along this desolate street. Suddenly arms grabbed me around my waist and I twisted my head to look into the face of my father. Black and white. His face was black and white and he had a gaping hole in his bare chest. Silence.
Bang! Another shot into the air. The man holding me around the waist had transformed into my maths teacher. But it had always been him, hadn’t it? My legs set into motion again but his grip was too tight, his shockingly thin arms firmly holding me back.
“Let me go!” I screamed but no sound came out. My legs continued to churn frantically with my arms reaching forward and my mouth hopelessly opening and closing in protest.
Bang! I woke with a start to the sound of my step-father, Giles, hammered another nail into Steff’s new cupboard in the adjoining bedroom. I looked down to see that I had become tangled in the wire of my bedside lamp whilst writhing around in my sleep. The wire was digging into my waist, pinning me to the bed. As I untangled myself, I accidentally knocked over the photo frame on my bed-side table. It was a black and white photograph of my father. A man who I’d never seen in person, with a blotch of ink on the left side of his chest which had been there ever since I remember.
Bang! I broke into a run after the short second in which I was frozen with shock. The ground seemed to tremor and echo with every stride I took. I was running furiously, away from the man behind but didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. I ran and ran but only managed to edge a few metres along this desolate street. Suddenly arms grabbed me around my waist and I twisted my head to look into the face of my father. Black and white. His face was black and white and he had a gaping hole in his bare chest. Silence.
Bang! Another shot into the air. The man holding me around the waist had transformed into my maths teacher. But it had always been him, hadn’t it? My legs set into motion again but his grip was too tight, his shockingly thin arms firmly holding me back.
“Let me go!” I screamed but no sound came out. My legs continued to churn frantically with my arms reaching forward and my mouth hopelessly opening and closing in protest.
Bang! I woke with a start to the sound of my step-father, Giles, hammered another nail into Steff’s new cupboard in the adjoining bedroom. I looked down to see that I had become tangled in the wire of my bedside lamp whilst writhing around in my sleep. The wire was digging into my waist, pinning me to the bed. As I untangled myself, I accidentally knocked over the photo frame on my bed-side table. It was a black and white photograph of my father. A man who I’d never seen in person, with a blotch of ink on the left side of his chest which had been there ever since I remember.