Categories > Original > Horror1 Reviews
Nightmares never seemed so beautiful
I gripped my chest through my thin Asking Alexandria tee, my speeding heart race began to fall, slowing with every breath I took.
It was like any other night, I suffered through the insomnia that plagued my muscles and mind, deeming me too awake to sleep, and too tired for any motivation. I would merely lay, staring at the ceiling, or on occasions out the window, staring at the sparkling stars above.
It was weird, I felt calmer when my attention was focused on those miniscule balls of gas that where floating around somewhere. They seemed to be my only savior from the nighttime horrors that plagued my sleeping mind, proving me helpless as they terrorized me to the point of waking up screaming, crying, or sometimes both
It was an odd sensation to feel, I never felt happy when I woke, leaving the nightmares behind me; nor did I feel angry when I fell into my unconscious state, welcoming the terrors to claim my mind.
Maybe it’s just me, I was always somewhat paranoid, I couldn’t even trust my own shadow at times; believing that it too would stand tall and backstab me when I became most helpless. No, no not paranoia; paranoia describes the feeling a person would be subject to, coming and going as they did what they pleased.
I don’t suffer through phases, it’s always there; looking over my shoulder, laughing in my face, watching me suffer as I fight the temptation to spin around and scream at the terror behind me. It’s a sore that never heals, an itch that’s never satisfied, a hunger that won’t quit. It’s always been like this though, which makes you think I would’ve gotten used to this lifestyle by now.
Well, that isn’t my case; it seems to get worse every April 7th. This may seem like just another day of the year, another day in April, or depending on if you’re in school still, it could mean spring break.
This date only adds to my suffering, for it’s my birthday; I don’t throw parties, invite friends over, or even have a drink. I just sit, and wait; wait and wait until they give me my present, the gift that keeps on giving, the never-ending birthday present.
You are probably sitting at home, at a coffee shop, wherever has wifi reading this and thinking “um, who exactly is “they”. Which I apologize, I honestly couldn’t tell you if I tried. I merely use the term ‘they’ because, I don’t know how else to describe them.
They’re not just nightmares anymore, yet they’re not demons. It seems like a guardian gone wrong; a spirit sent to watch over me, make sure I live as long as it was planned.
Except they found something about me they didn’t like, something that just pushed them, tugged at their sanity until they finally snapped and began doing the opposite of what they where commanded to do.
Rather than right out killing me, grabbing a sharp object like a knife, or blade of some sort; and dragging it against the soft skin of my throat. Watching as a line of crimson appears in its place, grinning as I groan in pain, wiping at the new flesh wound that covers my neck. They let out a soft, sadistic chuckle as they position the blade back in place, adding more pressure as they drag it across; this painful movement causing me to wake in a cut off scream as they press the blade down into my windpipe, pressure applied snapping the tube, blood filling my lungs, air unable to get into my fear filled body. I begin freaking out, flailing and trying to breathe, which only results in my last bit of air leaving my body, leaving me laying lifeless on a blood stained bed; as my “guardian” watches my body, sending a silent prayer as they roll my body over, until I am once again lying on my back.
They softly whisper a “rest in peace, young soul” and pull my eyelids down over my dead, unfocused hazel eyes. Leaving me, in the room that has become my tomb. Waiting for someone to find me, cry out as they see my limp body covered in dark, cold blood. They might cry for help, scream for someone to call 911 as they hope, beg, wish I was still alive; that this was all some cruel joke.
It was though, a cruel joke of fate, leaving the nightmares to plague me for the rest of eternity, leaving me to die slowly and wait for another lonely soul to find me.
No, I’m not dead; this gruesome scene was all a figment of my unconscious mind. Working in it’s cruel ways, allowing me to feel the cool blade lick my skin, burning me as I cry out, watching as the dark figure ends what was left of my life.
I scream, I cry, I watch.
I also think, wondering if this scene that replays in my dreams, night after night. All the nighttime scares ending in the same, terribly beautiful way; death.
It’s a beautiful thing actually, the thought of being claimed from this horrific, dammed world and allow yourself to be free. Finish your sentence and be rid of the suffering you had carried for years.
Leave behind the terrors of the night, leave the regrets that cause you pain, the moments in time that hurt you, those times watching you suffer.
Yet, nobody lets themselves see it in this way. They all believe death is so very terrible, losing a loved one, a best friend, a lover, a daughter, a face on the street. They all seem so selfish, forcing one to suffer longer than fate intended, so that they wouldn’t suffer through a “loss”.
They don’t realize, they have it all wrong. Suicide is selfish, they say; yet resuscitating someone who has taken their own life is “a wonderful thing”. Forcing someone to live through extra pain and suffering, going against fate is “amazing” and “okay”?
It isn’t an “untimely death” as it’s “fate”.
Everyone must die sometime, we can accept that; but why can’t we accept it when it’s untimely and self induced?
Maybe that’s what this never-ending nighttime horror show that continues to play in mind, plaguing my sleep, is all about.
I’m planning my own suicide without even knowing it.
I swear, I’m not suicidal. But I do suffer through terrible nightmares, they are usually very gory, and very creepy; XoJay