The moon was a sliver of light, a narrow rectangle rising over the plains. Blood curdling growls erupted through the night as creatures of horror rose. A small girl, huddled underground, squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to sleep. Drowsiness swept over her, and she fell into slumber, her face relaxing.
And then she woke up.
"Wake the hell up Trish!" A middle-aged woman poked her head through the doorframe, and Trish briefly considered slamming the door on her nose. Rolling her eyes, the woman stormed out of the room and down the corridor.
Trish squeezed her eyelids together, trying to concentrate on her dream. If she was quick enough, she could memorise the entire thing.
Yells from the other room alerted her it'd probably be a good idea to get up. Unable to stifle a pained moan, she rolled onto her stomach, feeling every one of her limbs aching. "If it weren't for my dreams, I wouldn't bother sleeping."
She said the words aloud without fear; no one bothered listening to her at home. Pushing herself up, she stumbled to the shower, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
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"Are you ready yet!" the sound of her mother's demanding voice made Trish want to punch her homework, which she tossed into her bag. Zipping it up, she slammed open the door, stalking out before her mum could yell at her more.
Trish's long, fast strides had her at the main road in a minute. Ignoring the bus stop, she walked down the road, taking the fifteen minute walk to school.
The day, like most, passed like a blur. Trish sat in the back of every class, hiding her sketchbook under the table. Other students gave her a wide berth, sitting as far to the front as they could.
One girl, Darla, brushed past Trish as she hurried to her fifth class, her hand grabbing the corner of her small blue-covered sketchbook. Turning away, Trish gripped at the binding with all the strength in her hand, quickening her pace.
"Too bad!" Darla called back. "Just wanted to see who you like, so I can avoid them!"
Ignoring her, Trish ran into class, the first one there. Upon opening her sketchpad, she studied an old drawing. Grey pencil marked out the body of a strange creature, four squat legs poking out from the lower body, two pairs in sharp forty-five degree angles from the rest of the monster, who had vines etched around it's torso and head, a permanent dark scowl visible through the foliage. It stood beside a tree, it's right camouflaging into the low leaves. One front leg was a little closer than the other, and the creature's eye-sockets were fixated straight ahead. On the next page, a skeleton sheltered under the lip of a cave, it's shadowed body devoid of flesh. In one hand it held the recurve of a dark bow, the string already pulled back, an arrow aimed ahead. The skeleton's skull, though, was held that the face stared at the sky, where, judging by the lighting, the sun rose. Skin-free feet tiptoed just inside the shadows, and it was clear the monster shied away from the light.
Flicking to a clean page, Trish raised her pencil, and was about to begin when a chatting pair of guys walked in, glancing curiously at her work. Slamming the book shut, Trish resigned to staring out the window for the rest of the day.
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Michael was awaiting Trish outside the school, goth music streaming out the open windows of the car. Throwing her bag into the boot, Trish queried, "how's the Deamon going?"
Michael grimaced, telling his sister all she needed to know.
Humming to the electronic music of Haunted, Trish looked out the window, watching as the world sped by. Michael grinned, expertly steering as he sped down the road, going far faster than the 60km/h speed limit.
"You're going to get caught one day," Trish murmured, knowing her brother was rolling his eyes.
"I have money," he muttered, the question of parental disappointment flying out the window.
"Ooookay," Michael said, stopping. A girl about Michael's age stood outside the house, her black hair running down her back.
"Hey Mike, Trish."
"Hi Ella," Trish called, already out of the car.
"There's pencils in my room, Dad's at work." Nodding at Ella, Trish grabbed her stuff and ran into the house.
Trish's cousin's life was completely different from hers. Ella had a loving father, a beautiful home, not to mention friends. Three pictures stood on a table at the back of the hall. One depicted Mike and Ella playing with a toddler version of Trish. another picture showed Ella and Uncle Jerome recently, feeding some giraffes. The last picture was old, framed by silver. It showed two women, almost identical with sandy blonde hair and fair skin. They were laughing at the picture taker, the background a green forest. Trish stared at the two of them, slowly picking out differences. A freckle there, a scab over here. Only by her beautiful wedding ring could Trish work out which was her Aunt, Dana. Her eyes trailed over to the other. Mother.
Pulling herself away from the photos, Trish walked up the stairs, falling down onto Ella's bed. Thoughts twirled around her head. Judging by Mike's expression when she asked, Trish would probably be staying here for a while.
Why can't we just stay here, mum? We're no use to you now. I wish you hadn't changed. The thoughts and despair twirled around Trish's mind, dancing to Haunted, the chilling music searing through her mind as she shut her eyes.
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SharaFaye opened her eyes, looking around. Surrounded by pure darkness, she reached upwards, letting her fingers trace the packed earth. Pressing a small area, which seemed less solid, she tensed her muscles. Shara hit the weak spot with all her strength and ran back as earth streamed into the cavern, followed by a ray of light. Scrambling towards it, the girl climbed out of the shelter, staring in delight at the sun, newly risen. The gurgling growls of a sun-burning zombie was heard in the distance, accompanied by the clanking of smoldering bones. Holding her glimmering sword at ready, Shara began to walk east. Thoughts of her nightmare drifted through her mind. She pitied Trish, her nightmare self. Bipolar mother- angrier than a disrespected enderman and sadder than a near dead wolf at once and loneliness, which Trish seemed to hate. Shara was silently grateful she had no one to miss, unlike Trish.
But Trish, and her world, wasn't real. The sight of Shara's house tossed the dream from her mind. Wood panels rose from the blanket of snow, smoke rising from the stone chimney.
Shara grinned, stepping inside. This was real. This was her home.