The Nightmare

She convulsed violently as if being tagged by powerful forces, each trying to make her cross into regions of their dominion. She looked as though she had just been exposed to a botched religious ritual, where the forces of evil and good matched each other in strength. People had gathered in the field, watching pensively and probably thankful that it was not a contagious disease. You watch the whole debacle through your bedroom window, a little bit intoxicated. No. You are so inebriated that you feel the world begin to spin dangerously.

Then, as if on cue, people begin to scamper to safety, scaling walls, and running while looking back as though the eyes aided in propelling them as far away from the scene as possible. Because of the substances you had consumed earlier, you fall asleep on your bed, with all your clothes on.

It does not take long before you hear footsteps inside your house. At first it is one, then two then many. You feel an ice cold hand touching your neck, and props you up as a mother would do to a baby. You slowly open your eyes, and come face to face with the convulsing woman. She has come with a crowd you earlier saw watch her convulse life threateningly. She touches your face and begs you to make love with her. She had been pretty earlier, but now she was an old woman, with a skin so wrinkled that one can hide a packet of unga when shoplifting. She is as repulsive as a blown up image of groin eating virus.

You sit on your bed and try to say a prayer, folding your fists tightly. Nothing happens despite you shouting Jesus forcefully. The woman’s entourage begins begging you to do as she asks as though the simple act possessed healing capability. You have never thought of your tool of intimacy as possessing any healing properties, and you don’t want to find out just then. May be she would turn into a maiden, and without any devilish tendencies you saw earlier. That’s none of your concern. What concerns you then is getting out of the place with your phone intact. Instinctively, you feel your phone in your pocket. It is still there.

It surprises you that none of the people restrain you as you make for the door. You should have asked them to leave, but it does not bother you. They can make away with anything they want in the house – you don’t care. All you care is putting enough distance between you and the devilish-looking group of humans. And with your phone. According to the National Bureau of Agony, nothing matches the agony of losing a smart phone, and even more agonizing is the wait until you can purchase another one.

When you get out, you are welcomed by darkness. And silence. All the houses have their lights off, except yours. There is no soul in sight. The world looks desolate, rid of any human soul. It felt as though the world was in readiness for the voice of God commanding with the voice ‘let there be…’ You think; let there be humans with actual human hearts and intentions. It dawns on you that the light in your house may have attracted them, for it is the only one in the entire neighborhood that’s on.

As you try to process the sudden change of environment, a young man dashes out of one the houses screaming hysterically. The scene provides a new dimension to the already fucked up situation you just found yourself in. What has happened to all the people? What am I going to do? A billion questions dart at lightning speed through your mind, yet do not give you a chance to contemplate the possible answers.

A slimy hand, or tentacles, cold as witch’s nipple at mid night wraps itself around your neck. As you feel life slowly slipping away, you wake up, drenched in sweat. It was a dream. Or nature was playing a cruel prank on you since its one in the night, and you damn know very well that it is time to think about all your problems, jumbled up as they are.

In the darkness, you stretch your hands to the table where you usually place your phone. It is still there. You press the power button and the screen lights up, blinding you momentarily. It’s not even three o’clock in the morning. You know what that time means – stay awake until six thinking the same thoughts over and over again. You know very well that you aren’t even imaginative enough to find better angles of thinking. Like getting your ass off and actually trying to live. But before that, you analyze the nightmare. It looked so real. Last time it looked this real, it became a reality – story for another day.