Tag Archives: nightmare

Earthquake

In the intermission of the night’s performance, a swirling miasma of electricity and murder, I awoke to find a creature stood in the middle of my room; the expanse of its limbs wrapped in each corner of the ceiling. It shook the very foundations of the house as its body pulsated under the faint light of the moon- impossibly long, deep gashes of red rode down the length of its auburn arms, like the bark of a rotting tree. It grinned at me, a grim dripping smile extending downwards, which smothered me from the centre of the room. Green and pink fantasies wrapped around my mind as I slipped slowly towards the trembling and as I grew nearer the yellows of the creature’s eyes forced my own eyes to remain open, irreconcilably drawn to the only source of light amongst the darkness of the room. My body shook and my blood ran frenzied to my brain, causing me to become sickeningly dizzy. I was now face to face with the creature and could feel its breath upon my shoulders. I could not close my eyes. Continue reading

The Trains

Tonight before she shuts her eyes and goes to sleep, she will leave the window of her bedroom open as she does every night, so as to listen to the passing of the trains. Neither the smoke from the cigarettes of her neighbours, nor the noise of the sirens that make their way from the main road and into her lap could ever compare to the sound of the trains. Their lurch, the sound of metal upon metal, so distant and yet so suffusing… carrying people to the very ends of the world. She can see hills in the distance from her window, but she can never reach them. They disappear into everything once she steps outside: they can only ever exist when she stands here. It is here the trains pass; it is here her stomach turns to be. Continue reading