Including I, puts a persona up
But I promise what you seein’ has truly been me
But I ain’t 5’9” all the time, sometimes I’m just Ryan - a human being
The steady drip of the tap echoed through the hallway, cutting through any hope of sleep I had. The sound reverberated off the walls, the dull tones forcing my eyes open. Darkness enveloped me. It was the dead of night.
Bathroom, I thought and lifted myself out of bed feeling my body protesting as I did so. A sliver of light came from the bathroom. My eyes adjusted to the light as I made my way to the bathroom to find the source of the drip. The sound of my footfalls seemed deafening, shutting out all other noise with each step and sending jarring vibrations up my legs. I reached the bathroom.
Squinting to block out the harsh brightness of the lights I could make out the taps. None were open, none were dripping. Strange. I turned back to my bedroom and made my way, plodding slowly along. The light from the bathroom cast my shadow long and skinny along my bedroom floor. Something was not right. I could see more colour than I should've been able to. Red.
My left hand went to the light switch. Brightness flooded the room, blinding me for a couple of seconds. When my vision returned, my heart jumped to my throat. Red streaks covered the walls, the floors, the window. Thick. Red. Fresh.
Drip...drip...drip...
The sound came again. My head jerked towards the sound. I turned around and made my way towards it. The hallway loomed before me, a praetorian guard silent in its resolve. I followed the sound.
Drip...drip...drip...
A door barred my path. I reached for the handle and felt a thick slime as I turned it. Lights flicked on, unbidden, as the door creaked slowly open. Red. The smears were all over the wall. Red.
Drip...drip...drip...
The red was falling from the roof, congealing in puddles all over the tiled floor. Red puddles. Red. The bed was covered in it, the once white sheets now red. So much red. And then I saw it. Or them. The bodies. Covered in the red. Slashed. Hacked. Stabbed. Red. I recognised the faces despite the mutilations, the scars, the holes, the eyes rolled back unseeing or completely missing as the life slowly ebbed out of them. Red. They stared accusingly. Red.
My right arm felt heavy. I glanced down and noticed the metal. The switchblade I knew so well glinted menacingly in the light. It was red.
* * *
The dreams have started again. They say I should talk about them. I've never been one for talk.
I'm out.
T(raumatic) S(tress) D(isorder)
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