Another note from this old author: Hopefully, I didn't bore you to death in the prologue. Hopefully, you don't die from boredom while skimming, scanning, or actually reading this chapter. It kinda starts off slow, I admit. At least, to what I think. Don't forget to review!

-Ozzy Dear!

X_

Chapter One: Awake

I could barely breathe.

My hellish nightmare was too horrifying for me to handle. I was so deprived of moisture and salt only because of the precipitaion leaking from every pore of my skin. The sheet barely concealing my bare body was practically damp from my nervous sweat during the night. Tears seemed to have streamed down to the pillow my head lied on for a portion of the night. My eyes blinked rapidly; they had been dry beyond belief as if they were open for three centuries. A headache pounded at the walls of my cranium, probably from all the shots to get drunk enough for happiness the night before...Obviously, the liquor did not do the punch it was consumed for. I did, however, get laid...

But the stranger beside me was the least bit attractive. His face was scarred by historic acne that had been popped ages before my time; a scruffy pepper beard had grown tangled across his jaw with small particles of what looked like dried mustard. Light reflected off of the top of his bald head, a deformed tattoo of what might have been a dragon curling around the top of the skin that stretched across his skull. His back and chest had a forest of fur that curled this way and that, and a trail of thinner hair lead down to his beer belly that exceeded the crease of the antique sheets.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I seriously need to lay off the shots.

I sat up, caressing the temples displayed on my head. The migraine slapped me internally, switching from one side of my gray matter to the other. My digits rubbed in circular motions, trying to ease the pain, but all failed; time to get the asprin.

I grasped the fabric and tossed it aside, pushing myself off of the mattress. The bottoms of my feet splashed into a puddle of an unknown substance, which was sure to ruin the wooden planked flooring. The liquid immediatly chilled me to the bone, instantly causing an alarm to go off in the muscle that beat in my chest. As soon as the pupil of my eyes took sight of the fluid, I nearly fainted.

Blood.

The crimson sap seemed to glare menancing at me, keeping silent. But the silence screamed and snarled at me, somehow hurting me. Somehow.

"Oh God. Oh my fucking God!" I breathed heavily, trying to make sense of it. Random pools of blood that leaked through the floor wasn't an every day occurance. There was one thought that was definately far from logical, but somehow seemed to be the key.

My nightmare. Oh, how could I have forgotten the misery? I was being sliced and stabbed and taunted and torn; there should have been blood. A shit-load, too. What if I was actually bleeding outside of dreamworld? What if all that occurred in the incubus actually happened?

Of course not! Get your asprin, get your juice, go make frozen food for your daughter, go visit the grave with a bottle of heavy whiskey, and go strip down!

I couldn't help but let out a giggle; it wasn't possible for that to happen in the first place, obviously.

It's probably a drink with cherry syrup in it, you buffoon!

My lean legs took a strut towards my closet, shrugging off the fluid remaining on the floor. It was silly for me to think things such as spontanous blood like the wood was suffering through a terrible menstral cycle. The chicken-fingers attatched to my left hand wrapped around the yellow door knob, tugged and twisted, forcing the wooden door with chipped white paint to open wide and reveal my "glorious" selection of clothing. I rummaged through the various options before claiming my prize: a tight lace undershirt in the color of snow, a low v-neck black sweater that clung onto my ivory skin for dear life, and black denim shorts. I leaned down to obtain some undergarments that lay in a basket for me to easily select before dressing my nude body.

I tossed my yellow hair from out of my eyes, but it just slithered its way back into my eyes as a cliche would go along to explain. I trudged my way out of my bedroom, took three steps, and entered my darling's room. Usually her door was tightly shut, but it was strangely open to the world. As I sauntered around, I couldn't help but look at everything. The pueter walls hung naked with the occassional cross or symbol or a picture of Jesus Christ himself; the window sat open, letting the tattered and stained curtains flutter around, trying to break away from being attatched to a metal pole for decoration; a bed lay untouched...

Untouched.

She's probably in the bathroom.

I trudged to the bathroom, the creaking of the floor intensifying with each pat. My right hand morphed into fist, knocking lightly on the anitque door, cooing polietly, "Cicely, you in there?"

No reply.

I knocked again.

No reply.

"What the fuck Cicely, open the door! Are you taking a shit or something?"

My heart raced and beat frantic; my mood swiftly swung hysterical in a matter of seconds. Surely she was in there. Surely she didn't go anywhere. She never did. She wasn't allowed to. My legs outstretched and ran this way and that, searching and searching, but I only ended up back in the pueter room. My arms waved around, swiping through anything in sight. Even if it was impossible for her to hide in a crevice the size of a coloring book, I pushed anything aside to find her. All until a single page note made it's way in my upper extremeties.

Dear Mother,

Remember what I said?

From, Cicely.

"Oh my fucking God."