Preface
Dreams are
funny things. Before the Awakening mine had never been that vivid. I would wake
up the next morning and immediately forget whatever obscure events I had
experienced the night before. It would only be later on in the day when
something would occasionally trigger my memory and I would have some vague
recollection of some odd, blurry adventure that I had embarked on in my sleep.
But when you
begin to have the same dream almost every night for two years it starts to
become more vivid, more memorable; almost part of your existence.
This has
been the case for me ever since the Awakening. Every night I dream the same
dream. The Predators fill my head, their familiar groans penetrating my
thoughts, their stench consuming my senses. It’s as if they are trying to eat
away at my sanity as well as my flesh.
In my dream,
I am always sat on the swing in our old back garden, watching the clouds
peacefully float by, listening to the birds or taking part in some other sort
of dream-like activity.
Then, I am
alerted by distant moans and I look up to see a collection of stumbling
Predators emerge from the house, their arms outstretched in desperation,
longing for human prey. Panic bubbles up inside me but, as is traditional in
dreams, I am stationary; the bench restricting any chance of my escape as I sit
there struggling to move in my frozen state.
Suddenly, in
the corner of my eye, I see another figure by the house. Craning my neck, I try
to see who it is through the mass of moving corpses.
It’s a
little girl.
Her face is
a blur - it is often impossible to see who people are, since you are often
provided with limited sight in dreams. Despite my inability to identify her, feelings
of dread surge through my body as Predators surround the little girl. I scream
at her to run but no sound emerges from my mouth, whether it’s because I am in
a dream or because my voice is being drowned out by the sickening dim of hungry
Predators, I don’t know.
Yet, the
Predators seem to ignore her. They lamely push past her body and seem to only
focus on the need for my flesh, not hers
The little
girl smiles; her face full of joy and innocence while I know mine shows an
expression of panic and despair. She looks angelic in a floral white dress and sparkling
patent leather shoes.
Her innocent
face breaks my heart and it is her innocent face that is the last thing I see
before I am engulfed by the mass of ravenous Predators.
***
‘Ellie! Ellie! Wake up, Ellie!’
I sit bolt
upright. My throat feels raw as if I have been screaming continuously, my limbs
ache a little from possible thrashing and I can feel hot beads of sweat
lingering on my burning forehead. Looking around, I see the faint outline of
Katie’s figure scurrying around my bead recovering the bed covers that have
been strewn around me.
‘You were
yelling,’ she informs me, ‘was it the Predators again?’ I nod apprehensively; I
hate the idea of my eleven year-old sister, who I am supposed to be responsible
for, having to often witness me in this distressed state.
After a
couple of minutes I compose myself and journey to the bathroom to splash some
much-needed cold water on my face. Katie follows me.
‘Are you
okay?’ she asks, an uneasy tone to her voice. I cup a trembling hand to her
worried face.
‘I’m fine,’ I reply, with as much positivity
as I can muster. ‘It’s okay; you can go back to bed now. I’m alright.’
But I don’t
feel it. It’s as if I can still feel their decaying fingers digging into my
skin, I can still sense their revolting stench lingering in my nostrils and as I
pat my face dry and look up into the mirror above the sink, I can’t help but picture
the rotting face of a Predator instead of my own.
