Stitches. They ran across me, needle and thread sowing through and in my skin. I prayed to be strong, I prayed to overcome this, but I knew it was that shady gray area that would determine my future.
... PAST ...
I was told I had a pretty straightforward mind, but last night, It seemed as if it were a tunnel I had yet to dig deeper through. The next morning, I shot straight up from my bed and took a quick glance at my chest. Nothing. Good. It was all bare and pale like how chests normally are. It really all started by that re-occurring dream that gave me the chills almost every single night. It always starts off very tranquil and relaxing; as if it were a lullaby. I was walking at a medium pace through a narrow aisle with glass walls surrounding me, occasionally stopping to admire the vivid flowers outside, looking as if they were painted on a large artist's canvas. The walls were protecting me from the flowers outside as I'm allergic to pollen. I glanced ahead of me, looking at where the aisle stops and continues as part of a castle I supposed I was in, seeming to be a very long distance from my current position. Suddenly, the glass wall shattered and I realized at what prone danger I was in. I kept running, thinking as if I could make to the other safe side where the glass ended. Shards of glass rained down on me just like if it were a small storm of hail. A sliver of glass poked my heel and then another one ran down my chest spilling out a stream of blood. Blood wrapped around me, trickling through all parts of my body forcing me to stop and collapse to the ground. Soon enough, the pollen also played in, wafting through my nose and sparking rashes onto my skin. My lungs burned and I closed my eyes, and soon enough I became unconscious and drifted away, my last thoughts being a failure. I simply just couldn't make it. I woke up, hearing beeps and staring at a pale ceiling. I shot up, my chest aching with pain and stared at all the mess made. A dozen stitches ran from my neck to my belly-button. They yelled and I groaned in pain, only to fall unconscious again. That's when I really woke up.
Unfathomable. That would be the word I would use to describe my past week. It was filled with strange and perplexing nights, most of which drained my energy the next day. I ended up staying home for that week and conjuring random excuses for my absence. I was always petrified to go to bed since I knew I would always dream the same dream. And even if they were lucid, sometimes I couldn't even wake up, not even being able to force myself. I tried consoling myself and brought three alarm clocks and set them up at the same time. Even with that, I couldn't wake up. It was as if the dream was the one controlling me and would always wake me up at the same spot every morning. The only conclusion I reached from this experiment were "angry parents".
... PRESENT ...
My alarm clock buzzed and I woke up this time, my dream not occurring from the past week. I had actually booked an appointment with my psychiatrist and told her about the events in my dream. She explained it was nothing but a fragment of my imagination, and common fears that a majority of people face. She recommended to check out a book on stitches and learn more about them. I tried doing so and it actually worked, surprisingly. I have been very proud of myself from the past week and now there was a morning of school to get to. Standing in the shower, my ears could finally relax to the soft hum of water rhythmically pattering on my feet. I got dressed and looked at myself in the mirror, however, something shady lay in the corner. I figured it was a piece of glass taped to my wall. I turned around, looking in the same spot, except nothing was there. I looked in the mirror and there it lay, in the very identical position, as if it hadn't moved an inch. I looked back onto the wall. Nothing. There was nothing where the reflection stated in the mirror. I turned back to the washroom counter, and the shard of glass was taped in the center of the mirror, dripping with blood. My pulse rapidly increased and I could feel my heart rate shoot up. I fled downstairs and ran to the breakfast table. I shoved a piece of bread in my mouth and was about to leave until my mom questioned,
"Why are you running, hun? You still have a lot of time before school starts."
"Oh, umm I thought I would meet up with my friends today, ok bye mom, I'm already late!" And with that, I rushed out the door, glad to escape the long questionnaire that would again be asking me after school. My parents really... I wouldn't say cared about me, they cared most about my marks.
It's not completely finished, this is just what I've done for the contest...