Lucid
Authors: A.K. Harris
Lucid
The Dreamer Legacy Book One
By A.K. Harris
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Lucid
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2013 A.K. Harris
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Chapter 1
The silence was penetrated only by my short stuttered breathing. The condensation from my heavy gasps of air forming small clusters of fog that dissipate into the frigid night air. Even though my eyes were fervently scanning the surrounding forest I couldn't make out any monstrous shapes stalking me from the shadows. The damp chill had long since penetrated the oversized shirt I fell asleep in.
The mangled howl carries through the air causing my body to flinch in response. My first instinct is to run but I know better by now. Running never helps. It only prolongs the inevitable. So I clamp my shaking hands onto the broken down log I've been waiting on, and hold my body still despite my fear.
The foliage begins snapping in protest as the creature draws near. A strangled sob escapes my throat and the tears begin to run freely down my cheeks. Its always this way. The fear before the dying is stifling. My body muscles spasming in an attempt to get it up and moving. My every instinct tells me to run but I don't. There is no point. The beast whichever one it is, never loses.
My eyes stay locked on the ground in front of me. I don't want to know what it is this time. Knowing only makes the fear worse, the panic stronger. Knowing makes me want to run from it. And the beasts love a good chase. It makes them hunger. And the hunger makes them even more violent. It's a mistake I don't intend to make again.
The shadow begins to fall over the ground that I'm keeping my eyes trained on. Its grunting breaths get closer and I can
feel
the beast leaning in to get a smell. It's hairy taloned paws come into view on the ground and I almost falter. I almost look. It drags is claws slowly, almost softly against my skin, causing small beads of blood to form on the torn flesh. A small mewling sob escapes me then as I flinch away from its touch.
The beast is on me then, tearing and ripping at my flesh, its fangs and claws doing equal damage in turns. I find it odd at this point that even as my life blood drains from my body, I feel it. Every claw. Every fang. Every rip in my skin that should have killed me, even as the beast eats parts of my flesh and I'm sure I’m dead I feel it. I'm sure I'm dead because I no longer have control of my body, I can not close my eyes, nor attempt to fight the beast off. I can't scream. Nothing moves. I simply lay here, letting the monster feast on my flesh. I can't even sigh at the indignity of it all. One thousand five hundred and ninety nights I've died. Never the same way, nor the same monster. Same type of monster maybe but I doubt its ever been the same beast. They always tear me apart and eat me, but never the same. I can feel it pulling out my entrails now, eating them, feasting on them, and I know I'm dead. The world has a hazy glazed over look too it as though my eyes are no longer getting the blood they need to continue seeing. But I continue feeling. The hot sticky blood that covers my body. The claws as they dig just a little deeper. My bones grinding under the beasts strong maw. I'll lay here in agonizing suffering just as I have all the nights before, waiting for it to end. Waiting for my body wake up. My vision gets darker. Everything fades to black and I know I'm close now. So close.
Chapter 2
As the blackness fades the real world pitches itself into view. The picture covered walls of my room spinning violently adding to my nausea. Dragging myself out of bed I throw myself toward the door that leads to my bathroom. The heaving begins just as I make it to the toilet. When the retching finally stops I let my body fall heavily to the bathroom floor. Small convulsions continued to wrack my overexerted body, causing spasms of pain to lance through my muscles. I used the back of my hand to wipe away the tears causing my blurry vision, and just continue to lay on the floor. Crying never helped.
Finally the spasm abates and I am able to haul myself off the floor and take a look at the damage in the mirror.
“How riveting,” I murmur. “Looking more and more like a corpse every day.”
I run my fingers along the darkened hollows surrounding my eyes. I pinch my cheeks to try and bring a little color back to the skin. It doesn't work.
I keep my hand on the wall in an attempt to sturdy myself as I walk back into my bedroom.
As I stand the muscles in my legs scream in protest, I try to push the pain out of my mind as my body stretches to pull a black sweater over my head. I pull a fitted pair of jeans on, and begin struggling with the laces of my shoes. My fingers tremble and refuse to obey as I try to tie the laces together. Eventually my feeble fingers succeed a the task and I slowly amble my way downstairs.
When I head into the kitchen to find something to settle my nauseated stomach, its a worst case scenario. My parents are already there, waiting. No doubt they heard me puking my soul into the porcelain bucket. I walk past them without meeting their gaze, because I know what I will see in it.
Pain. And I don't need any more of that then what I have of my own. I cram a few salt crackers into my mouth and wash it down with some juice. I finally feel enough life in me to risk glancing at my parents.
Sadness. Pain. Fear. A whole lot of fear. But what parent wouldn't be afraid when their only child had some
illness
that prayed upon them while they slept? I'm thankful. Every day. Because I know, when I'm gone, for surely this
will
kill me, they will still have each other. I'm thankful that their love for each other grows stronger with every painful blow they take. But their eyes are so
haunted
and that hurts me even more than the pain of being eaten alive, or dead, or whatever that catatonic state in my dreams was. So I look them in the eyes and offer the best smile I can manage. Even my face hurts as the muscles pull and stretch with the attempt.
“Mornin'.” I offer cramming more crackers into my mouth now that the nausea has abated slightly.
“Good morning sweetheart... how are you feeling?” My mother asks softly. She knows... but we still pretend like I'm normal. Still pretend like nothing is wrong. Like they didn't just hear me having a break down.
“I'm fine,” I reply chewing my crackers slowly. Hopefully it will buy me some time from having to explain anything further. It looks like I'm in luck. My mother and father simply sigh and begin going about their morning routine which leaves me free to escape before the psychiatrist talk can come back up.
“I'll see you after school. Later,” I call on my way out the front door, as I jog over to my car. The crisp autumn air causes my fingers to tremble slightly as I attempt to unlock the car door.
Finally I hear the click as the lock turns over and I climb in and turn the vents on full blast to warm my slightly numbed fingers.
By the time I make it to school most of the nausea and shock from dying in my dreams has worn off. My stiff, but no longer sore limbs work almost mechanically to carry me toward the sterile whitewashed school building. My arms tuck against my body as I try to weave through the students milling in front of the school building without touching them. My eyes stayed glued to the floor, only open enough to make sure I can dodge the kids walking around me. They laugh and joke, they
enjoy
, and I feel like such and outsider. Like I haven't felt anything a normal teenager should feel in a long time.
Skirting the closest clique of teenagers, defined by three pairs of shiny new sneakers and a pair of glossy high heels, I headed straight for my locker.
Which meant unfortunately, I ran right into a pair of red chucks.
“Sorry...” I mumble before trying to go around the shoes blocking my way.
The shoes match each move I make continuing to block the path to my locker. And they appear to be doing it deliberately.
“Excuse me.” I try, before making another attempt to pass the red chucks which thankfully don't chase me this time.
“Not even going to look? Last night must have sucked something awful.”
I may not know the chucks but I
do
know that voice. My eyes snap up, landing on the storming slate gray eyes of my best friend... well my only friend Olivia Miller.
“Oh... Livs... You got new shoes. I like them.” Olivia might be the only person I've told about the dreams that doesn't think I'm crazy. However, that doesn't mean she lets me go with being a social pariah just cause I'm
probably
crazy.
Olivia draped her covered arm over my shoulder and fell in step with me, as we began weaving our way through the crowd. Proceeding once again toward my locker. I only mention that her arm was covered because you know... I've never seen it. Not once in the eleven years I've known her. It's something I always notice. Always a sleeve, or an arm warmer, or something covering both arms from the elbow to her hands. She's the only girl I know that wears arm warmers in the pool. I suppose we all have our quirks though.
“I've got something for you to try. I'm pretty sure it will work this time.”
“No!” When the heads of fellow students began craning their necks for a closer look at my outburst, I made sure to quiet my voice before continuing. “No way. Last time you made me eat a
frog
.”
“It was cooked.”
“I don't
care
. It was disgusting.”
“Well my aunt Opal says-”
“Listen. Olivia... I hate to break it to you...
again
. But your not a witch... and neither is your aunt Opal. Cause witches aren't real.”
“Says the non believer,” she responded, practically sighing the words. We'd been over this before. Apparently she thinks she intrusted me with the great secret of her being some kind of crystal energy witch in training. I think shes trying to hoax me.
“Mercy, we've been friends since first grade. Best friends in fact. I'm only looking out for your well being.”
“I don't think eating a frog was good for my well being.”
“Well... that might have been purely for my amusement. But I swear this time it really should help.”
“Because your aunts book filled with fake magic shit says so?”
She let out an exhausted sort of sigh, signaling her displeasure with me, and I knew this argument was over. And I was on the losing end. Before I could even respond she grabbed my hand and dropped something heavy in it.
“Just wear it to bed. That's it. It's Danburite.”
The stone was fogged up at the top end where it was connected to a silver chain, with the end of the stone getting clearer until it was almost translucent.
“I just have to wear it? Nothing crazy?”
“Nope I spelled it while I was making it and-”
I turn and walk away throwing one last wave over my shoulder before she can finish. I really don't want to know. Its like
knowing
your on the receiving end of someones voodoo pincushion. Except instead of needles shes poking me with her fake spell crazies. I have enough of my own crazy to worry about.
By the time I got home from school and was ready for bed I was exhausted. Like I never actually slept while I was sleeping. It always felt like the deaths took their toll on my real life body. And I don't know how much longer I can stand it.
The pictures that line my room in the moonlight are a stark reminder of everything it feels like I've lost. Pictures of happier times and happier people. Pictures of a happier me. One that isn't to busy dying to care about living.