Angela Shaw [Heroes] | 1961 (plaguedbydreams) wrote in colligo_threads, @ 2009-06-20 00:41:00 |
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Current mood: | terrified |
Entry tags: | !closed, #complete |
Who: Angela Shaw
What: Angela has one of her dreams
Where: Her room
When: Late tonight
Rating: PG for slightly disturbing images
Status: CLOSED; Narrative
Forty-one. Forty-two. Forty-three . . .
Her eyes were closed as she tried the old trick; one after another, her mind's eye conjured sheep as the teenage girl lay in bed, trying to sleep. It had been a while since she'd really, truly slept, what with the strange epidemic all over town, cutting out all sound and voice. The unnatural silence had made everything seem eerie; any play of shadows had started to send her tossing and turning, the lack of sound allowing her over-active mind to take full advantage. Thoughts plagued her constantly, no matter if she was trying to sleep. It was one of these deluges of constant thought that had led to Angela's lack of sleep at that moment, and her desperation had brought about the cliched attempts at calming down.
Forty-four. Forty-five. Forty-six. Forty-seven . . .
She tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position, even as the counting continued in her mind, in a slow, almost dirge-like pace as she tried to soothe and calm her weary mind. She needed to sleep; she needed the rest, the break it gave from the reality of the soundless town. Forty-eight . . . Forty-nine . . . Fif- . . . It was almost like a switch was turned off inside, as the mental image died away, and Angela sank into her bed, lost in sleep.
The corridor was dark. Everything was cast in shadow, as the night-time sky offered little light through the distant window. The stars weren't even out to offer just that little bit of twilight, this late at night, and the moon hid its face behind a cloud. Everything was dark and still before her; everything was silent as ever. Her footsteps made no echo, no sound at all as she slowly moved forward, one foot in front of the other in a steady, somber march. Every step she took brought her closer to the shadows; closer to the figures laying in her path. Dark eyes looked down as she got even with one, and she came to a sudden halt. The body laying at her feet was unfamiliar, especially in the dim corridor, but nothing could disguise the sight and smell of the blood that stained his clothing, and the floor beneath him. His chest was ripped open, head lolled back in death, spattered with blood.
Moving on, a flash of a dark figure in a nearby window gave her pause; what had that been? It took her a second to realize that it was just a glimpse of her reflection as she passed; nothing to be concerned about. As she moved on, another figure lay crumpled; a woman, this time, in same condition as the man: dead, her chest ripped open and mutilated, just as his had been. Angela felt herself gag a little at the sight and smell, and she took a moment to look away, down the corridor. In the dimness she could see more figures, all slumped, all dead. More and more, waiting to be found . . . more bodies, more blood. It was too much.
Stumbling back, she looked down . . . only to find her hands in front of her, coated in blood. Blood, that was not her own. What was going on? A silent sob escaped before she managed to stumble back to the window once more, raising her head . . . and staring in horror.
The face she saw was not her own. No, there was nothing remotely familiar about the face that stared at her from that window reflection. The grotesque, bald head that stared was terrifying, the mouth twisted and pulled taut in a gruesome smile: the face of something unnatural, and evil . . .
Angela jolted out of the dream, nearly falling from her bed as she let out an agonized, silenced scream.