Bars
I saw little tiny spiderwebs against the window start to form. They looked very beautiful and enticing at first, but I knew that they would be incredibly dangerous if I got too close. The whole ordeal was now in slow motion as I watched the spiderwebs become larger, spun faster by the little invisible spiders that were crawling up the wall. I liked the spiderwebs, because they reminded me of nature, though again, I was aware that these same webs could most definitely kill me.
I watched further and they got larger and wider, more branches of the web fanning out and spiraling bigger, and bigger, and bigger.
Then something odd happened, even though in my mind I knew that it would occur at some point. The glass shattered apart violently, and I hopped back just in time.
The spray of sharp particles soared through the air, and time was again slow. Someone, who looked extremely comical while doing so, was halfway through jumping out the window, or into here. I laughed in my head, a silent yet true laugh that said all it needed to say.
The person’s feet hit the floor with a thud, and I felt the slight tremor they brought into my bedroom. It was a first floor bedroom, one of the few left in houses due to some obvious complications.
I looked at the person; they had a weapon in one hand. It was very strange, the entire scene, and time was a snail once more. I didn’t care for the constant slowing and stopping of time, for I just wanted the event to end.
As if my wish had come true with a single thought, it did, nearly. The figure raised its weapon, which I now saw as a pistol, and I was confused, as it pointed the thing at me. I didn’t know I was a prime target for a robbery or shooting, or a target at all. I was just another person trying to scrape by in life, and that was it.
The person cocked the gun, and unloaded a full round of bullets somewhere in slow motion. I blinked a few times to make sure the event was reality, and it was confirmed by the streaks of red. I saw something below, on my torso, in the general direction of where the thing had been pointed.
It was indeed crimson as I had previously guessed, my crimson, liquid that had come from my body. I was quite utterly dumbfounded as the ripples of pain were sent through my body one at a time in waves of nearly unbearable agony.
Then, the figure turned, and went into the other areas of the house. I supposed it would be looking for loot, some in which it would never find in the likes of this neighborhood. I was aware now that I was starting to become lethargic, and that my eyelids were drooping the slightest bit.
I sat against the wall, and slid all the way down. I didn’t know what was sapping my energy so fast, nor did I know why it was doing so at all. My head was pounding out the sound of a basic drum beat rhythm, and it eased the pain the slightest, but it did not fully subside.
It was like a words on the tip of your tongue; you may forget what the word was, or why you needed to say it, but you won’t forget that it was meant for something important, and you had lost it somewhere in a fantasy land.
This new sensation toppled over me, the numbness and weakness attributed with major health problems, such as a gunshot wound, but I wasn’t injured. I looked down. Oh, I thought to myself.
I, apparently, had been hit, or grazed, by a few stray bullets. I suddenly felt very light, as if an elephant weight had been lifted off of my fragile body. Up ahead, off in the distance, was somewhere better than here.
Somewhere better than a place in which poor people killed so they could support their families, a better place in which people died for the simple untruth of what they believed in. Somewhere...not here.
I woke from the nightmare, shaken, and looked around. I was in my own house, my own bed, and I was completely unharmed by any means. It was just as I had left myself before the spiderwebs had started on the glass.
Though, something was off about even here. I turned around, and there it was, the tiny clue that had lead to me thinking this. It was a shattered window and a streak of scarlet running down the wall. I looked down at my forearm.
Why, I do not know this, but I did it all the same. Rolling up my sleeve, I saw exactly ten black stripes covering my veins. One was slowly fading into my skin, like disappearing ink, and the others stayed firm in their existing state.
I had told them that I didn't want or need the operation, yet they disrespected me all the same! I felt a little violated then, but also, some part of my mind was almost a tiny bit too grateful for what they had done to me.
