The Third Nightmare

Nick stands mere feet away from me in his moderately furnished living room. The television- a 42 incher- sits in front of the bay window extending across the north wall. The couch is set in the middle of the floor, between me and Nicky, who is directly in front of the television. 1

It's on, but the volume has been muted-- Spongebob Squarepants without the annoying chiming laugh, and extremely mutated blob-y characters. Patrick Star and Spongebob have sort of melted, gross blobs with no actual shape anymore.2

In Nicky'shand, I notice, is a small handgun. The type, I couldn't tell you, but it would do the job, whatever that job might be. In slow motion, Nick turns around.3

His expression is blank-- dangerously so. His eyes stare unblinkingly at me and his mouth presses into a firm thin line. "It's your fault, Crystal," he says. "It's on your hands." I try to speak, but am mute, just like the TV. I try to move, but feel like a statue. There is nothing I can do as he positions his gun at his right temple. And pulls the trigger. 4

The blast rips away his face, and the wall to my left is covered in bone and blood, and stripbs of hair and flesh. Bloody skull lies beneath the avulsed area, and his eyes linger on me, as he falls to the floor. More blood leaks out, covering the white carpet, pooling around him horribly. Unable to look any longer, I turn my head away. 5

My eyes refuse to shut, and they fall upon the messied wall. In the debris, my name is formed, stark contrast to the wall itself. Chunks of blood and bits of bone cling together, desperately marking an angry boy's last remark. 6

***7

I awaken suddenly, safe and warm in my Colorado bed. My room comes into dim focus, my alarm clock on my bedstand and the window in the wall at my head.8

My breathing slows as I register that it is only around 9 o'clock at night, and that I feel asleep on my English homework that is due tomrrow.9

My mind is utterly exhausted, and I know that I cannot possibly finsih this tonight, so I opt to sit up and pack it away. Amazingly enough, this choice doesn't gnaw at me like it normally would. Normally, I would have been angry with myself, and nervous for the consequences, for not finishing it. 10

I toss the notebook with my English in it aside and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. Conveniently, the leather case containing my pocket knife is laying directly at my feet, as is a lighter I keep in my room at all times.11

Grasping the case, I snap it open and extract the knife. It's a rahter beautiful forge, made of what looks to be mahongany. At either end of the closed knife, silver adornment decorates it, and when open, the handle and blade span around 7 inches. The blade itself is about three and a half of that, and it's not serrated.12

I gently ease the blade from its snug hiding spot and eye the silver metal wearily. Oh, how I am tempted by the defining elegance of its point. But, I don't. I ease it shut again and slide it back into its case.13

Sighing, I stand and switch off the light, stumbling back to bed in the dark. I grasp my phone in my hand, and pluck out a note to my friend, Shadow. 14

For some reason, the aftermath of the dream has caused me to be exhausted, yet unable to sleep. So, Shadow and I spend time chatting. My mind being fried, not a lot of what I write is spelled correctly, nor does it always make sense. Part of me hopes that she doesn't think I am intoxicated. Part of me wishes she would call just to ask if I am.15

Eventually, I pass out again, plunged into another horrific scene....16

***17

It begins much the same way-- Nick in his living room, the couch between us. Only it changes when Nick shows me the gun. 18

Suddenly, I am next to him, begging him, pleading with him not to. The words come out of his mouth, scathing and scarring me. 19

"It's too late, Crystal. You can't undo the things you made me do. Fix this, bitch." The gun agian rises to his right temple, and the blast again echoes.20

Only this time, my hands are suddenly moving. I grip at his face, his skull, his brain as it leaks out. I try to fix him, bandage him. I try to stop the bleeding, and my hands are becoming covered in his blood. My skin is no longer white, but scarelet, and the wall again appears.21

Instead of my name there, the bone, blood, and skin taunted, "Your fault."22

***23

I jerk awake again, this time breathing much more heavily, and wanting to cry. But I swallow it down. I've cried enough as it is. 24

I stare at my alarm lcock, noting that it is barely after midnight, about two hours since I remember looking at the clock. Leaning over the edge of my bed, I grab my water bottle, gulping down water like a fish out of water, to soothe my burning, aching throat. The knife and the lighter are still there....25

***26

I fall once again into the all-too-familiar scene spread out before me. I am still separatred from Nick by the couch and he presents the gun to me.27

"My life was in your hands, Crystal," he says tearfully. "And you threw it all to hell." 28

"I just wanted to help," I squeak weakly. "Please, Nicky, don't do this. There are ways to work through this."29

"No, Crystal, it's over. This is your fault. The cleanup is on your hands. You've already done it; there's no going back."30

Suddenly, the gun is no longer in Nick's hand, but in mine, and I am standing next him him, my arm lifted, the gun to his temple. His eyes plead with me not to do it, and I will my arm down. but the arm simply ignores my brain. 31

"Please, Crystal, don't do it," Nicky's voice echoes. Then BAM!32

***33

I fling myself, upward, and can't breathe at all. The tears leak out, and then flood. The clock says 3:30, and I cry harder, reaching for my phone.34

Would Shadow be awake? She's been exhausted lately. I finger my phone slowly, and contemplate calling her. But as my heart and tears slow, I decide it would be rude to. My phone drops to the ground, and I grip my knife and lighter.35

Taking it out, I flip the knife open, adn flick the lighter into a flame. Heating the metal, I press it against the skin just above my knee. It feels like heavenly pain-- a punishment and a control-- as I do so. I sigh as the metal sears me, and ache to talk to someone. But instead, afterward I lay back and drift into an uneasy, yet dreamless sleep.