The walls are bleeding. Thick, red ooze is leaking from the barriers enclosing my house, gushing over my ugly black carpet. I know it’s blood because my sinuses are overwhelmed by the metallic scent escaping from the walls. My living room is flooded. All I do is stand there as the fluid gushes over me. I have to breathe, but the blood intrudes my lungs, instead of air. For some reason I accept that this is happening, but I can’t remember what I did to seal my fate. This visceral ocean will be my grave. I hear a voice. It’s deep and gravelly. “Morna, morna, morna...” it goes on and on, chanting that one foreign word. My eyes turn black. But then I wake up.
I sit straight up in my bed, gasping for air. I gaze at my tacky “Pearls Before Swine” calendar on my dresser. Today’s comic is the cartoon rat kicking the cartoon pig in the nards. The date is February 22, 2014. I’ve been having this dream every night for the past few months. I look down to my carpet. It’s still ugly and black. The carpet has nacho cheese stains here and there, crumpled newspaper scattered around around the apartment, and my tattered history paper, which I got a C- on, is still ripped apart in my trash can. I sigh, and venture out of bed.
Today was the first time there was any dialogue in the dream, which worries me. Every night the cryptic vision gets longer and longer, leading closer and closer to my demise in the dream. I haven’t actually died in my dream yet, but tonight was pretty close. I heat up some mushroom pizza, and while I eat breakfast, I remind myself once again that I never should have told my friend who works at the local Pizza Hut that I hate mushrooms. I make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I look in the mirror, and I can see that my red hair is tangled and in painful knots, no doubt from the tossing and turning last night. After combing my hair, I get my leather jacket with a jagged skull and crossbones on the back. I’m only wearing it as another one out of hundreds of attempts to distract people from the bright purple birthmark that goes from the right side of my jaw, onto my right cheekbone. Lucky for me, it’s not lumpy or painful, but it’s extremely noticeable.
My parents are out of town right now, on their do-over honeymoon in The Bahamas. I’ve had to manage myself for the last remaining months of my final year at high school. I did have a party - if you can call having three of my friends over to watch Royal Rumble a party. It was fun, at the very least. Sorely lacking in jello shots though.
I start walking my way to school. We live three miles away, but I like walking, so it’s not that big of a deal for me. While walking past the park, I notice a man in a hoodie is walking behind me. I chuckle. He looks like the kind of guy who’d sell you a counterfeit rolex. He doesn’t look like he’s packing any sort of weapon though, so I’m not worried. I take one more look behind me. I can’t see his face, because of the hoodie, and he has a big bushy blonde beard and long bangs that keep me from viewing any sort of distinguishable features about him.
I keep walking. Past the supermarket, past the video store, and past the pawn shop. I look back, to confirm he’s not there. But he is. He’s still behind me. I start getting a sick feeling in my stomach. I need to throw up all of a sudden. I’m feeling woozy. I can’t figure out what’s going on. I start trying to run, but my stomach cramps and I stop. It feels like something is tearing me up from inside out. I tell my body to keep running, but it just stops, and I fall on my knees. I try to scream, but chunks of my breakfast come up instead, oozing all over my leather jacket and splattering on the ground. But I’ve been vomiting way more than my breakfast. I look down, and can’t believe what I see. Escaping from my mouth, thick blobs of black blood clots flow all over me. I stand up and start running, but I find myself back in my house.The walls are bleeding. It’s just like my dream. The ironlike smell of the gore seeping into my house invades my nostrils, screaming at me. The crimson fluid passes over me. I try to breathe, but the blood gushes into my mouth instead, filling my lungs, and then my stomach. As my eyes turn black, I hear those words again. Morna. Morna. MORNA
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