Things to Run Away From Really Fast

07/26/10

I try to WILD. I notice the beginnings of HH, let my fingers twitch and decide I haven't reached SP.

I fall asleep. I'm laying in a bed when I feel someone lie down next to me. I freeze, and pretend to be asleep.

I make an impossible jump onto the roof of a barn.

I'm walking along cold grey tiles of a huge grocery store. If I look around, I'll see water flowing past the high windows, held at bay by degrading technology. I catch a glimpse of myself from the third person. I'm a teenage girl with pixie-like features. My shoulder-length brown hair is pulled back from my face.

I turn a corner, shining my flashlight up and down the aisles.

Since I'm a girl, I'm caught up in a rite of passage that all girls in my post-apocalyptic society go through. It's less a test and more of a sacrifice. If all the girls feed the monster a part of our souls, it'll be less likely to kill us.

My flashlight flickers and goes out.

I squeeze my elbow into my side, reassured by the blade I feel hidden under my jacket.

"Come to me, child," says a voice, rasping hollow through the darkness.

The voice resonates like a song, notes ringing through my mind, weaving a compulsion. I let the song flow over my mind like water, leaving my intentions to lie quietly in the darkness.

I let the flashlight fall from my hand. It clatters to the ground, the sound harsh in the relative silence of the warehouse. The music has reached a quiet hum. The flashlight rolls away.

I feel drowsy as I respond to the tug of the song, shuffling my feet toward the back wall of the building.

In one moment, I'm alone. In the next, the monster has apeared before me, a writhing mass of shadows moving toward me and invading my space. It brings me in, compliant, pulling me to the heart of it.

A distant part of me feels panicked and trapped, but I'm ready for this. In one smooth motion, I'm grabbing my blade and rushing forward, slicing through the monster's fleshy heart. Blood bursts from the wound, spraying everywhere.

I lick my lips, and step back, triumphant. The shadows dissipate, leaving the warehouse with the dim, directionless lighting of a dream. The scene starts to fade.

I'm standing in the produce department, wearing a more comfortable dream form, short-haired and androgynous, no longer covered in blood. The dark-haired man across from me looks annoyed as he holds a hand over his heart, willing the wound to close.

My lips twitch. "You lose again, Amon."

The Test. Scare Factor: 5.