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Glue & Duct tape
Chapter Two . Falling to Pieces
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I remember going back to my first nightmare again last night. It began more like a dream, because even if there was darkness, I was not afraid of it.
Do not be afraid.
For the time being, I obeyed that god-like disembodied voice, probably because my head was locked by its massive, steering hands of domineering control. Later I'd wish I had started to get a little scared. Maybe then the dream would have ended faster.
There was a floor, liquid or solid, I could not tell. Every time my feet touched the black ocean, a halo of light would ripple out beneath it and then melt into the surrounding shadows. Yet I did not feel like the candle in a world of darkness. I felt just like another part of it. A figure, at first plunged unwillingly into this obscure situation but slowly beginning to remember that they were just another puzzle piece, the last missing link. I'd have to give in and put things right. I had to sacrifice myself –
Shut up, I told the voice. I was beginning to find its advice distasteful.
It apparently shied away in a confused flurry, as if caught doing something when not in the right mind and coming back to its senses. I was alone, for now. That was fine. I wasn't afraid. I could traverse this dimension a thousand times and still be strolling by my independent self.
A few more footsteps in my sneakers (crafted for a giant) seemed to lead me somewhere. 'Somewhere' as a word probably wasn't even in this empty place's dictionary. It was nothing, just an abandoned realm.
Even so, something else was in there with me.
I turned and blinked at the presence, eyes pinpointing veins of dim blue light in a spider-web pattern across the . . . wall? The only way to find out was to touch it, so my hand reached out (previously shielding my vision because of the suddenness it had materialized) to place itself on what was now a stone wall. The place beneath my pale hand glowed, sending a chain-reacting to the streaks on the backdrop that suddenly became clearer gossamers, as if flooded with the strange blue light.
When the wall turned into another magic trick, my reaction was to draw my hand back in surprise. The plan backfired, as the palm seemed to be glued onto the rounded boulder. Gritting my teeth and sneering in effort, creating a flash of pearly whites in the dreary surroundings, I vainly attempted to wrench my hand away. Eventually I had to resort to using the hand that was not stuck to clasp my wrist and tug with the rising sense of panic at my heels. What kind of dream was this?
What I tried only left a blaring red mark on my wrist, ridiculing my desperate endeavor of freeing myself. "Grah." My turquoise eyes rolled up to the ceiling that could have extended on for miles, a ceiling that could not be found. I did this as if I was searching for help, and help could be found if I looked to the nonexistent heavens. This was a nightmare and nightmares didn't have angels that rescued you from them, unfortunately.
I started to put my foot on the wall but luckily caught myself at the last minute. If I had, I'd be even more tangled up in this deceiving web.
Stop, I told myself under my breath in a quiet pant. Stop and think this through a second. What could I do to escape? Obviously, brute strength or any other physical action made little difference.
Usually I was able to lazily segue through anything in a cool and collected manner. Right now I was just struck on the intent of getting out of here. I had momentarily forgotten what had tempted me into touching the wall in the first place amidst the strife and now remembered. Something was in this nightmare with me. Something; more unknown nouns were not anything I wanted to collect at the moment.
I had to wake up before it got me. Before it hurt me. Before it killed me.
All sensibility had abandoned my unconsciousness, of tales that you could not die in a dream and that you'd wake up before you did. Well, I didn't want to go through the shit before I was supposed to die. I knew it wasn't going to be a quick and painless 'death.'
A fleeting memory occurred to me of what I always used to do when I was enduring a bad dream and could still use my mind in it; instantly I shut my eyes tight and dug teeth into my lower lip and a beautifully revitalizing rush of pain erupted in my head almost the second I did so. Only a strangled noise came up from my throat. Opened my eyes and still saw only the thick black sheet above me.
I blinked, hard as possible. Sometimes that even worked. Yet no clues told me I was back in bed when my eyelids fluttered back open.
Oh shit, but please. The zombie's nearly on our asses.
My own words from six years before echoed in my ears, holding the steady calmness of a person who was also at the same time scared to death.
I was sitting in Sora's dimly-lit living room on the couch, and our faces were colourlessly alight by the glowing TV screen. What was playing was one of those old bogus black-and-white horror films that could have been silent if it weren't for the over-acted Hollywood screams. There was a zombie – a big, mean, don't-fuck-with-me type before he had died, surely, and rotted his eyes out. Now he feasted for living flesh. It seemed he particularly preferred young women's flawless skin and organs.
"Oh, shit! The zombie's nearly on our asses!" Came my yell, not from fear but from hilarity in attempt to make a joke as a light-haired chick ran across the screen, waving her arms frantically as the man-eating zombie stalked after her. I had not attempted to keep my strong vocabulary down so Sora's mother couldn't hear, however.
"Oh no!" Sora shrieked and looked close to what the girl would do, hands flying up to cover his face. He was such a weenie, even though I thought I saw the flicker of white teeth between his fingers from his open-mouthed grin. The brunette's abrupt action had disturbed the bowl of popcorn on his lap, and while he wasn't looking I snatched it from him, overlooking the spot where it should sit fairly between us on the sofa, and plopped it in my own vicinity. I then commenced in chucking popcorn at the television.
A boring part graced us quickly. The ladies' head had already been ripped off by the zombie, who had no problem catching up to her when she had fallen. Nine at the time, I had yet to know the obscene irony of wearing high heels in a graveyard at night. Now the police were gathered around on the screen, and I elbowed my friend and made it as close to a punch as I could.
"Dum-dum, the scary part's over. You can stop pissing in your pants now."
He resurfaced good-naturedly but that emotion rapidly turned into a tentative expression on his face as he noticed the popcorn strewn on the floor. "Wh-what's that?"
"Dunno. The zombie's hot on our trail so he must've – aw man, you missed it!" And I pretended to draw my attention back to the TV.
Sora could be fucked over by the zombie, but I wasn't going to. I didn't want to be the victim of my own stupid nightmarish creatures.
Reluctantly I was snared by an invisible hook that reeled me out of my reverie
(a dream within a dream)
(one horror movie to the next)
but still did not take me off of the wall. I grimaced, at first because of the sour luck of it all, then at the wintry pressure on my locked wrist that I had not noticed before. My heart began to beat in my throat rather than my chest as I froze, daring myself to drag my eyes to my arm where surely the gnarled hand of the zombie would rest, raw and decaying green-tinged flesh on my irritated skin. And it'd fall apart in my hesitating trance but still have a firm grip on me, of course, and turn blood red then black like it had been burned. But its grip would still be relentless.
I see a red door and I want it painted black.
Wonderful time for lyrics to pop in my head.
I wanna see it painted, painted black.
But it was already black.
And it wasn't a hand, or a door, or any other limb of a zombie.
It was a paw. A colossal paw, with digits curled maliciously into claws, fledged with talons.
If I were Sora, I bet I'd scream profusely, vocals sounding in a hundred screeching bells. Thank God I wasn't. Instead I began to sputter, and my eyes probably did bug out a little at what I saw standing – no, hunching – feet away from me, half-submerged in shadows.
It – that's as best as a pronoun that I could come up with – was huge. The segment on the ground wouldn't be all that monstrous if there wasn't a grotesque tumor-like formation sprouting from its back, writhing and shuddering in ecstasy as it bounced on its web, watching my lively struggles with a hundred jittering yellow eyes.
What was closest to me was a creature that resembled a panther, and its counterpart an enormous spider with multiple (couldn't have been just eight) legs tumbling down, prodding, searching, scraping the walls and floors. Both consisted of atramentous quality, but the paw resting on my forearm was definitely solid.
I looked into its feline face and vigilant lips quickly pulled back to reveal ivory fangs in a snarl, black tongue like diseased smoke curling out of its gaping maw that meant to latch onto my head. It didn't need to get any closer,
(o shit the zombie's on our asses)
but I could hear the scuttling of the bloated spider in one ear as it climbed down its web to greet me and feel the freezing breath of the cat-beast on my other ear, stirring platinum strands of hair into my eye. While one would weave a poisonous blanket around me, the other would strip my bones clean of everything around them.
Those inch-long teeth got dangerously close, and I could almost feel the smooth hardness of them on my cheek, not yet piercing. I winced and shut my eyes, bracing myself for a certain death of being eaten alive.
"No." Without really thinking about it, I had sternly and verbally opposed of this conclusion. "I won't let you get me." I stared into the panther's emotionless amber orbs and it seemed to hold my gaze. "I won't let you. Do you hear me?" Nothing was in those eyes. "I won't let you." They were as empty as the void around us.
My leg bent up from under me and with a growl that could have been a big shadow cats like this one, connected with the predator's jet black chest in a haughty kick. I glanced up at its eyes with a grimace to see its reaction, which was absolutely nothing. After that moment it seemed to get bored of waiting.
A disgruntled cry marked my inevitable defeat as I turned my head and did not watch the monstrosity descend.
Without warning the floor began to shift. The monster and I blinked, a hundred and four eyes put together, and then a darker than black portal began to form at my feet, swirling sluggishly like an infant whirlpool. I began to sink into the pit, vines of darkness slithering up my legs and coiling around my body, pulling me down. I noticed that my hand was finally free and I hadn't done a thing to make it that way as I watched the equally surprised expressions of the It.
Goodbye, suckers, I couldn't help but think, may you burn in Hell for all eternity. Alas, my distinct relief was evanesced, soon tipped over by a new tide of dread and horror. I was trapped again, and I had a feeling wherever I'd go wouldn't be to safety.
I was falling.
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I'm falling and I cannot get back up. There is only darkness – my lungs are congested with it like frigid water. I'm drowning in it. My eyes are being ripped and grabbed at until I can't see anything anymore. Blindness now envelopes me like the darkness did. It's a good thing too, sort of, because I don't want to see what horrible terrible things are out there in front of me behind me at my feet and head grabbing reaching tearing breaking. What are these things I cannot see them I want to scream but my throat's constricted cannot breathe cannot feel only pain and that ugly full feeling like after eating too much at a big dinner. Not a good wholesome full, a sick full. Can't get away even if I'm sinking. There's no end to this. No bottom where I'll drop and break all my bones and splatter ounces and ounces of blood my blood and bruise my fair skin. Used to get sunburned and he'd laugh oh he'd laugh and he'd laugh because he could get perfect tans just by sitting out for a few minutes baking. Mom would have to take care of me she would and then he'd come by and laugh and laugh but then begin to try and feel sorry. But he couldn't and I hated him for that. I hate him for that.
I'm falling . . .
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There is a transition point between dreaming and waking; a point that is just blackness with a lot of distorting fog over it. I was nearly breaking through to that point while plummeting head-first into the spacious gap of my nightmare. Even though my body was rigid as I fell except for the gentle fluttering of my clothes as they were combed through by some imaginary wind, I was sure that back inside my bed, light years away I was tossing and turning like anyone would in any old bad dream. Too bad this wasn't a frequently visited nightmare. This felt like it was for real.
I could only imagine what would happen when I reached the bottom of this endless abyss.
After perhaps minutes of idle free-falling, I performed a languid somersault in the air that let my feet delicately touch ground again. The ground seemed to be stained glass with a mural I couldn't make out in the dankness.
For my first time at sky-diving and acrobatics, I guess I did pretty well.
Fear had completely deserted me once more. Now I was just aware of everything and nothing at all. You know the feeling – when your mind is open to things, but they don't necessarily all flood in at the same time and you're slow to register? Anyway, I was at a precious state of peace.
Ever so fortunate for my regained tranquility to be lost again by yet another intrusion.
At first, I thought, Oh shit, the cat/spider beast fell into the hole with me. If that were true, then it would have probably plopped on top of me, right? What I saw came from the corner of my eye, a towering silhouette with a Medusa-like hair-do. That was all I could make out of it, and another – much smaller – smudge dancing all around it like a pixie fairy.
I decided to go watch the odd pair squabble, but before I could take a step foreward something was being summoned up in the direction I had just been facing. Turned out, it was another one of those ogres that was looming off in the distance. Except this one was only yards away from me, and I was going to be its opponent.
Great.
"Stay the hell away from me!" I yelled with a sudden splurge of anger. This was getting old. I clenched my fists and contemplated spitting out some cliché add-on like 'I'm warning you!' and didn't have the time. It was hunkering down on its massive haunches, ready to pick me up in its crushing grasp and squeeze.
I decided to shed my cockiness and run.
The only direction was right – unfortunately, that meant I was heading towards the behemoth duplicate and whatever was fighting it.
Miraculously, I felt like I was running from the zombie. Again.
Once I was as far as I could go without getting too close to the other beast, I skidded to a stop and swung around to face the not-quite-approaching titan. This guy was big and slow. It gave me an advantage. Now, I either had to find a way to get out – another nauseating warp hole, maybe, or wake up. Or find something to fight with.
But what? There was nothing.
I heard grunts of effort coming from behind me. As I watched the battle, the midget was lugging something that could have been a sword. I almost recognized the voice . . .
"Hi-ya!"
"Sora you idiot, you don't say 'hi-ya' while fighting! That's only in karate." I stabbed him in the ribs with my wooden stave. "You're dead."
"Aw man Riku, that's not fair! You distracted me again!"
I rolled my eyes. "Anything distracts you, Sora. A flower petal blowing in the wind would."
"What's the score now, Kairi?"
"Seventeen to nine," The redhead chirruped with a giggle, glad to do something.
Sora gave the girl his infamous pouty look and she giggled again. Louder for him. I nearly glared.
Satisfied with the attention, Sora turned back to me. "What's kah-rah-tee?"
"That's real fighting. You can say all this babbly stuff and get away with it while chopping people's limbs off."
The shadow waved his weapon all around and yelled like a madman, all the while not getting close enough to whacking the giant with it. If only I had something to fight with . . .
"Hm?" A tingling feeling in my right hand disturbed my dazing, along with the now booming footfalls behind me. I glanced down at my hand first and saw a shimmer of silver that reminded me of Christmas tree garland that quickly gave way to the shape of a giant key.
What. The. Fuck.
A guttural sound arose from Mr. Monster in agitation. Never mind this.
I boldly turned to face he who was glaring down at me, poising my poor excuse for a weapon in an offensive stance. Let's see what this thing's made of.
My own throat mustered up a roar that could have beaten the behemoth's any day as I rushed foreward and plunged the tip of the keyblade into the ugly mother's leg. It sunk in all the way and my arm almost went with it. This guy was just a bunch of malignant mist was all.
It teetered, taking huge steps backwords. I made sure to rip out my weapon before he toppled over, not wanting to go flying again. Jesus, no more of that.
My victory was once more short-lived. As the thing seemed to deteriorate into ashes, I felt myself being pulled back and down again. Jerking my chin over my shoulder, I noticed that it was another oval pool of sludge I was falling into. Further off in the distance where the other two fighters had been was a door.
You will be the one who will open the door.
"Please," I muttered, tossing my head to the starless sky. "I just want to go home." Through all my weariness I was carried back to the darkness, and all vision faded to black.
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I felt sand or dirt scrape against my palm. I rolled over. I moaned. I opened my eyes and squinted up at the ceiling of the Secret Place.
On wobbling legs I stood and began to shakily tread back home. If I looked behind me, there would be the door. Watching me like the monsters' studying yellow eyes had done.
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N.otes
Yes, I am aware that I must only be prolonging the torture. Have no fear, chapter three is near – and then things shall pick back up where they left off, and what may be thirsted to be explained will be. To the best of Kairi's ability, that is. Heh. Heh.
Lyrics used are from The Rolling Stone's song, 'Paint it Black.'
Realization – I'm a horrible writer. My writing is altered by whatever mood I'm in, making the whole thing (if I don't write it all at one time) a mutated mess. This chapter especially. I apologize. Don't worry, I'm not schizo, and I'm not trying to make your brain implode. At least I don't think so, anyway. Have to keep you reading, right?