You know I don't own Labyrinth; I know I don't own Labyrinth. Right? Good. On with the show.
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I wake sweating, a strangled cry tearing past my lips and echoing into the darkness.
The same dream. After all this time, the same dream that ruined test grades and relationships alike during my teenage years. But then it was only sporadic; now, it's become a regular feature of my nights.
Fumbling for the switch on my bedside lamp, I struggle to control the ragged pace of my breathing. My shaking hand finally encounters the familiar plastic bump, and yellow light illuminates the room.
Just my bedroom, the same as ever. A few garments messily piled on the rocking chair, books scattered on every available flat surface, dresser cluttered with jewelry and hair accessories. However, after what I've just experienced, this normalcy does little to calm me.
A forest, illuminated only by the full moon behind me. My breath comes in gasps as I half-run, half-stumble over the rocky ground, occasionally tripping over tree roots. Though uncertain of what I'm running from, I press on, hair stuck to my sweaty forehead and heart racing.
Suddenly, I am at the entrance to a clearing. And there, in a perfect beam of silver moonlight, stands the man I now recognize as my pursuer.
He didn't even need to chase me. I have come straight to him, regardless of my intentions.
The light illuminates every plane of his pale face to its best advantage and, even in my panic, I marvel at his beauty. Sun-colored hair falls in uneven strands to his shoulders, accentuating mismatched, otherworldly eyes-
The eyes bring me back to reality. They are dark with lust, and some darker emotion I cannot discern. Every nerve in my body screams for me to run, to hide, but there is nowhere to go. With a deadly smile, he starts toward me. I turn, intending to resume my desperate flight; thorny vines shoot up from the ground, their barbs digging into my flesh and holding me to the spot. My struggles yield only more pain, and rivulets of blood begin trickling down my bare arms.
He tilts my chin upwards until our eyes meet. Still smirking at my predicament, he whispers in a voice that soothes and frightens at the same time, "You are mine."
As his face draws closer to mine, I scream.
I can't keep going like this. My performance at work is suffering; friends are beginning to comment on the circles beneath my eyes. Shaking my head, I slip out of bed and pad dizzily down the hall to the bathroom.
The harsh lights over the mirror confirm my suspicions: I'm a complete wreck. My face, normally a bit pale, looks deathly white against the dark backdrop of my hair. Purplish crescents under my eyes silently retell how much time has passed since my last decent sleep. Under a white tank top and oversized shorts, my body is thinner than usual; attempts to get some rest have taken the place of my lunch breaks, and occasionally dinners.
I shove a few strands of hair behind my ears and reach for the medicine cabinet. The white bottle of sleeping pills feels reassuring in its banality, and I shake one into my palm.
You know, it doesn't have to keep going. It can all end right now.
The thought shocks me, but I examine the twenty or so pills in the bottle. Definitely enough to put me to sleep permanently. Deep, dreamless sleep forever...peace at last...
Rather than horrific, the prospect now seems sorely tempting. I upend the bottle; a multitude of tiny, white tablets cascades into my open hand. I stare at them for a solid minute, working up the courage to pour them down my throat.
One final look in the mirror. "Goodbye, Sarah Williams," I say perkily to myself, smiling for the first time in several months. My hand, shaking and moving almost as if it has a mind of its own, approaches my lips-
-only drop suddenly in shock, spilling the pills, when I notice a flash of blue in the mirror. Rather than my own green eyes, two mismatched ones stare back at me, the pupil of one larger than that of the other.
The vision disappears in less than a minute, leading me to write it off as a remnant of the nightmare. Glancing down, I notice the pills I dropped floating in the toilet, slowly dissolving into nothing.
I really meant to-
I sink to the floor, twining my hands in my hair; the cool tile feels soothing against my feet as I shake with noiseless sobs. How did it get to this place? How did I become such a mess? And the most haunting question of all: Why is he doing this to me?
"Oh, Sarah."
The words come unbidden to my head, and I listen with mixed fascination and horror.
"You are mine, but you cannot come to me until these mortal flaws are gone."
I don't consciously walk back to my room or climb back into bed, but the next sensation I notice is the coolness of sheets against my skin. My eyelids feel unbelievably heavy; with a yawn, I gratefully slip into the kind of deep, peaceful sleep I'd almost forgotten. The bliss of true rest nearly keeps me from hearing the next words.
"Sleep now, my Sarah. For tomorrow, you will face yourself anew."