I'm sorry that it's late and very short! I've had a crazy week with coursework and work but I have a week off next week so hopefully I'll be able to write a longer chapter for the end of next week. Sorry again that it's so short! If you want to ask me any questions or give me any tips concerning the fic then leave me a message on my tumblr: .com Thanks :)
He was running, he didn't know what from, he didn't know where to, he just ran. The slap slap slap of his feet and the harsh breaths that escaped his mouth were nearly drowned out by the furious howling of the wind that whipped his hair and stung his eyes. The road in front seemed to be endless, no cars in sight, and the dark night sky above, filled with stars, added to the ghostly shapes of the forest of trees that lined either side of the path. He definitely was no longer in the big city.
A loud growl came from behind him and he glanced back over his shoulder, continuing his never ending sprint along the tarmac. His heart thudded violently in his chest; he remembered now what he was running from.
Behind him, slowly gaining speed and closing the distance between them, was what he could only describe as a monster. It was on all fours, though its front legs were most definitely arms, with its bloodied hands slapping against the road as it ran. Its long spindly body moved quickly towards him, its long, knotted, debris-filled mane of hair blowing behind it in the wind, its ripped mouth stretched tightly into a sinister smile and its eyes, oh the eyes, big and black and empty. Empty of emotion. Empty of a soul.
His backed dripped of sweat as he ran, pushing himself to run faster. That was a mistake.
He landed harshly on his ankle after one particularly long stride and fell to the ground, pain shooting up his leg. Gripping his leg tightly, he attempted to stop the tremor that ran through it and gritted his teeth as the pain flared. A shadow, suddenly growing taller, appeared on the ground in from on him and his eyes wandered slowly upwards. Long feet with long, dirty toe nails to match. Long bony legs, twisted at a slight angle. A thin, emaciated torso, with long arms ending in clawed hands hung at the side. And finally the face. The thin, drawn face, skin stretched tightly over the cheekbones, with the two black orbs staring down at him hungrily. The thing let out a high animalistic whine at the back of its throat before throwing its head back and let out an ear piercing... Siren?
Kurt cocked his head to the side.
The siren blared again and he gripped his hands over his ears tightly.
"STOP!" He screamed, the sound echoing through his body violently, blood starting to drip slowly out of his nose. "STOPPP!"
"STOPP!" Kurt woke up, the sound of his alarm still blaring loudly next to his bed on the bedside table. Oh. Dreaming again.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment's breath. The dream had been vivid, so real, too real almost. The alarm continued beside him, an annoying reminder that he was back in the real world. That he was momentarily safe.
Kurt sighed before reaching over and turning it off. The clock read 6:46am. It had been
blaring for 46 minutes and meant that Kurt had just under 15 minutes to get ready and leave for work. Shit.
He remembered Rachel tucking him in on Sunday morning, when he'd nearly collapsed from tiredness. But that was Sunday. His eyebrows rose as he realised that he'd slept for a whole day. Maybe I really was tired.
Shrugging out of his jogging bottoms and t-shirt that he'd fallen asleep in, Kurt grabbed a white, crisp button up shirt out of his wardrobe and a pair of dark grey, skinny jeans out of his bottom drawer. He paired them with a lighter grey scarf, his black docs and his favourite beetle brooch. Looking in the mirror, he decided that his outfit was a definite change from his normal style; too simple and plain when compared with his usual flamboyant yet fashionable outfits. Now wasn't the time to really care about that though, considering he only had, he checked his watch, 8 minutes left till he had to leave, and he hadn't even attempted to style his hair yet.
At this realisation, Kurt rushed into the bathroom, throwing the cupboard open and grabbing the hairspray before placing it hastily and a little too harshly of the edge of the bathtub, causing it to topple over onto the floor. He let out a groan of frustration, ignoring the can, which had continued to roll away, for now as he attempted to scrape out the knots in his hair using a small, black comb.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror: his chestnut hair stuck up in small, wavy tufts and remained stubborn, the comb often getting caught in the knots, but what caught his eyes the most were the dark, bruise-like marks under his own tired eyes, screaming out ' bad nights sleep' to him. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to look a wreck today.
He groaned again at the stubborn locks and turned frantically in a circle, scanning the floor before his eyes landed on the hairspray that hadn't quite managed to escape the small room, instead being stopped by the edge of the door frame; he turned back to the mirror sprayed his hair in earnest, determined to at least make his hair look presentable to compensate for his off-day clothing choice.
After eating up 7 of the remaining 8 minutes by attempting to style his hair into a somewhat 'tidy' style, Kurt decided he had to make do with however ridiculous his hair looked (the front of his quiff hadn't managed to hold so strongly and several pieces had escaped, hanging over his brow messily) and brush his teeth before leaving for work; breakfast would have to go amiss today.
Kurt finally left the house six minutes later than he'd planned, after telling himself that if he spent just a few more minutes on it, he would be able to fix his hair. He was wrong. While his hair looked slightly better than before, there were still several strands escaping and sticking out, and he was now most likely going to miss the train to work. Great.