The Cell

The only other person in the cell with him was a small girl. She couldn’t of been any older than ten. Her hair was dirty blonde, cropped short; messy. She had bright blue eyes that stared into nothing. Sometimes when she looked at him, chill prickled his skin. It was like she was looking right into him. It was until later, that he found out she was blind. That comforted him a little, but he still couldn’t help the feeling of uneasiness her stares gave him.

One morning, he found her sitting in the opposite corner of him. Her back towards him. She was facing the wall. And while doing this, she was tracing something with her pointer finger against it. Up and down, over and over; again and again. Adam watched her do this for minutes. Those minutes became hours, then the hours became almost a day. Finally, mid-afternoon, he decided to ask her what exactly she was doing.

“What is it that you’re tracing over there?” He asked. The girl was silent. She continued moving her fingers over the wall. It was like she was writing invisible letters that only she could read.

“I’m writing.” Was all she said. She was very much focused in what she was doing.

“What are you writing?” He continued, hoping she would give him a better answer. He heard her sigh. Her finger stopped moving, and she turned towards his voice. She blinked.

“I’m writing to the monsters,” she said matter-of-factually. “They keep bothering me, so I’m telling them to go away.”

“Oh, really?” Adam replied. This sounded like a child’s game to him. Whatever helps you sleep at night, he thought to himself.

“Yes.” She said. “It’s awfully painful — what I have to say to them.” She slide herself back around and started to write once again.

He tilted his head, “What is painful?”

The girl sighed again, her hand paused. “You ask too many questions, sir. This is common knowledge.”

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I’d just really like to know what you’re up to. You seem really focused on doing it. It was true. He was quite curious. Of course, there wasn’t much other things interesting going on in the cell.

“The things they make me promise are painful,” the girl finally said. “They make me say bad things.” Her voice went down to a whisper.

Adam moved closer, and craned his head over. “Bad things?”

“Yes,” she agreed. Her hand started to move again at a quicker pace.

“Like what?”

“They tell me to say who will die next. Who to sacrifice. Who I want dead.” This sent cold air down Adam’s spin. “It’s a big pain. I don’t like choosing that kind of stuff.”

He swallowed. “Wh-what are you telling them today?”

The girl glanced back, her face grim. The blue eyes were point towards the cell walls, but he felt like they were looking at him. Right at him. “Some guy named Adam,” she said. His breath stopped. “He’s dying next.”

Adam’s eyes widened. No. That wasn’t possible. This girl was lying. She had a big imagination. A imagination that was perhaps a bit messed up. But how did she know your name, his mind whispered back. How did she know his name? Just an odd coincidence? No. That wasn’t possible.

Sweat started to drip down his forehead. If he was going to die, when would it be? Tonight, tomorrow, in a week? Will he just wait for it to come?

He shook his head.

No. He can’t believe this girl. He glanced over at her, she was still writing. “Can you tell when they will die?”

The girl stopped. She turned around with a smile. “I can’t predict the future, silly. I leave that decision to the monsters.” His throat was dry. He took in a deep breath. That wasn’t much help. It actually wasn’t any help at all. Who were these monsters anyways? Just a stupid thing the girl came up with? Maybe. Possibly. He hoped it was.

The girl started to laugh. Adam looked over in confusion. “Oh, how funny,” she cried. She looked up and down the wall. Her eyes scanned over it. She was reading something.

“What is?”

“They say it’s you. Your time is now.”

His heart stopped. He had a hand placed against his chest unconsciously. “What?” He started to breathing heavily. Black started to surround his vision. The girl was the only thing light in the room. The only thing he could see clearly. Her blonde hair…her blue eyes…that smile…

“It’s you–”

Everything stopped. Darkness.

What a Dream

Alen knew he was dreaming when he glanced down at his hands. They were distorted; ever-changing, and always different when he looked away and then back at them. He was sitting in his office, with his usual sleek suit — it was like his typical day.

Papers were scattered around his desk that he had to sign or look at. It was no use though, because it was: 1. A dream; and 2. He never did his work, anyways. He sighed and ruffled through his hair. When will this dream finally end, he thought, when can I wake up? He never had enjoyed dreaming. It seemed pointless to him, really. To Alen, it was time wasted on something he didn’t need; only his body did.

There was a click at his door. He glanced up in surprise. Finally, something interesting might happen, he thought. The door opened. It wasn’t Alice, as he was expecting it to be. It was another woman. A woman that he didn’t recognize.

Alen knew just enough about dreaming to know that people you could only see for a split-second, might appear randomly in your dreams. The dream books he had studied once, when he used to suffer from insomnia, told him that much. But, this women…she puzzled him. He would have remembered her. With her pale green eyes, and long ink black hair — she stood out. There was an exotic look to her, that he normally didn’t see. Especially, in the presence of his company.

She wore a white button-up shirt and black slacks. It was similar to what Alice wears, he noticed. She stepped in front of his desk. Her eyes were narrow and her red lips in a tight line. She was mad. Or rather, furious, was a better word. She yelled something and threw the papers and books off his desk. Then she stomped away. The door slammed behind her. Alen could only stare at her, wide-eyed. What the hell was this woman’s problem? Perhaps, he had done something to anger her in the dream he wasn’t aware of.

He leaned back in his chair and waited. Alen was still anticipating the time he could wake up and say: “What a dream…”

The dream suddenly changed. Now, he was watching a different woman, who was following the halls to his office. She knocked on his door and stepped in. There he was, dressed as just before, sitting in his desk. This time, he was watching himself, as if he was watching a movie. It was odd. Peculiar.

This woman was pale. She had her brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail, and big hazel eyes. He told her something and she replied back. This didn’t seem to please her. Within moments, they were both yelling. The woman started to pick up the papers that were thrown by the earlier woman and tossed them at him. Some hit his face. Watching himself from afar, he could only shake his head. It was almost embarrassing to see; himself being beat over by angry woman. And what was with them throwing things at him? What in the world had he done.

The dream only got worse after that. The Alen he saw, stood up abruptly and walked over to the brown-haired woman. He was now screaming at her. She had stopped her voice, and was now only staring. She was shaking.

Then, he did something he would have never done in real life. At least, that was what he hoped. Alen grabbed the woman by her neck and started to strangle her. She fell to the ground, choking; crying. He yelled at her to get up. She did. Her face was utter fear. He took her face and started to rake at her eyes with his nails. Blood started to flow down her face. The Alen he saw continued to claw at her eyes. She yelled in pain, still sobbing.

Watching it in 3rd person, made the real Alen want to puke. He would never do that, right? Right.

The last image from the scene he saw was the blood dripping down her face like red tears. She was bent over, her eyes closed. Alen could tell she was now blind. From him — his dream-self. The other Alen only stood above her, with a grim face. His blue eyes were streaked with madness.

Then he woke up.

He was breathing hard. Beads of sweat dripped down his face. Alice was standing next to his bed with worry spread all over her face. She wore a t-shirt and pajama pants. Her blonde hair fell down to her shoulders. She wore no makeup. “You were screaming in your sleep,” she whispered. Alen sat up. The dream flashed through his mind repeatedly. His shivered. “Are you okay?”

He slowly nodded. Then glancing at her with a fake smile, he said, “It was just a dream. Go to sleep, Alice, dear.”