Posted on Wed Jul 26th, 2017 @ 5:14pm by Unawakened Melissa Wilson
Location: Tim LaFontaine's bedroom
Timeline: January 13th, 1:27am
All I see is red.
I feel anger, but it isn’t mine. I don’t know where it comes from, who it is targeted against. Rage and frustration and confusion and all I want to do is destroy things. I want to smash the world into a million little tiny grains of sand, to cause chaos that will never end.
The thought of that makes me giddy. A laugh bubbles up from inside of me, dark and sinister. The sound of it reminds me of that nature show Tara made me watch about jackals, their mouths curled in a canine smile that sent a shiver down my spine - and not the good kind of shiver. This was the kind that chilled me to my bones, that made me feel like something was seriously wrong with them and the last thing I would want to do was meet a jackal in a dark alley somewhere.
Not that there are many jackals in Shady Side. At least, not the animal kind.
I feel the same kind of chill in my bones now, and I can’t explain it. I can’t understand it any more than I can understand the anger. I feel my body move, but I am not aware of where it’s going or what it’s doing. It doesn’t respond to me. That should freak me out more than it does, I guess, but after being sick for so long, well, my body and I have never been on the best of terms anyway.
I hear voices, but the language doesn’t sound like English and I’ve never studied other languages - well, aside from learning some Egyptian hieroglyph and a bit of Elvish when I was a kid and obsessed with Lord of the Rings, but I don’t know if either of those count. I can’t speak either one, anyway. The language has a cadence that feels familiar, but the words are just a blur of sounds, noise that means nothing. It should confuse me, but it doesn’t. If anything, it heightens my anger.
I am a prisoner. Trapped. Confined in a cage of anger and fury, unaware of what is happening around me.
I can’t see anything but red.
Tim LaFontaine gasped, bolting upright in his bed. His eyes were wide and he was, suddenly and unexpectedly, very wide awake. His heart was racing, and his skin felt clammy, covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat. He took a deep breath, trying to slow his breathing and quell the panic that the dream filled him with.
That the dream always filled him with.
“Damn nightmares...” He muttered, pulling back the covers of his bed, blinking in surprise to discover that he had gone to bed without his pyjamas on. He never did that. Pyjamas were comfortable. Tim frowned.
It was still dark outside his window as he stood up. Things like this had been happening to him lately, and he couldn’t explain them. Things he thought he’d done that he discovered he hadn’t, objects out of place in his room or missing entirely, waking up to find himself not wearing his pyjamas... he couldn’t explain any of it. The more he tried, the more frustrated he became. The memories simply weren’t there.
He sighed, running his hand through his hair as he walked toward the window, ignoring the cold that his duvet had kept away. This chill felt more welcome, somehow, despite his unanticipated nakedness. The dreams and the memory loss were becoming more frequent. He knew that he should talk to Dr. Cyparissus about them to see if they were connected to his sudden healing, but the idea that something might be wrong with his miraculous cure made him nervous. He didn’t want to be sick again, not now that he knew what it was like to feel healthy. He ran a hand over his chest, muscles that were inexplicably toned in a way that they never had been before. He liked how he was now, not needing dialysis, feeling good, and having the sort of physique that his character Ankhramesses had in Worlds of Myth. Whatever happened in that game, whatever had healed him, had been nothing short of a miracle and he didn’t want to tarnish it. Still, the dreams started not long after, and the more often they happened, the more often he woke up naked or found something missing when he remembered putting it somewhere, the more he couldn’t deny that there had to be a connection.
“I should tell Melissa.” He whispered to himself. Even if he couldn’t tell Dr. Cyparissus, Melissa would listen. She was in the game too, and maybe she would remember something about his healing that he didn’t. She might have the answer, and even if she didn’t, well, she was his girlfriend as well as his best friend. If he couldn’t talk to her, who could he talk to?
A memory tickled the back of his mind. They were at school, sitting in the cafeteria having lunch. That creepy guy who was friends with his sister had just left. Melissa had invited him to come home with her after school, saying that Kyle wouldn’t be there and her mother would be out so they’d be alone. He had a feeling that she was suggesting there might be sex involved, and he really hoped she was. He really wanted to have sex with her.
So, why didn’t he remember doing it? He was sure that he wouldn’t forget something as amazing as that.
He remembered watching her leave for class, the way her body moved under her dark blue sweater, the slight sway of her hips and the way her black hair shone as it cascaded down to the middle of her back. He had followed her out of the cafeteria, then they’d shared a quick, soft, chaste kiss before she went to English class and he headed to Computer Science.
He didn’t remember Computer Science class.
“Please don’t tell me I lost the whole afternoon...” He whispered to himself with a sigh and a sinking feeling in his gut as he looked over at the time. The red LEDs on his digital clock mocked him.
“Shit.” He sighed. “Melissa is going to kill me.”