Dreams were the key to unlocking his mind, opening doors to places he never even knew he had. Naoya closed his eyes and dreamt of vengeance, tucked under a threadbare blanket in his corner of the dorm room. The other boys threw rocks at him, called him a freak.
In his dreams, he was a freak and proud of it. In dreams, his strange ability was not a curse but a gift, and with it he could move mountains, not just bend spoons and accidentally shatter the windows in the cafeteria. When the other boys threw rocks at him, the rocks bounced off of invisible shields of protection.
When one of the boys tried to cut his throat in his sleep, he dismantled the boy limb from limb.
Naoya awoke the next morning and saw the boy’s blood dripping behind his eyelids. Something in him knew how to do that, how to tug apart flesh and bone, muscle and sinew, and earn a piercing scream with which to rend the air.
That night, when he laid down to sleep, he wondered what his dreams would teach him next.
(188 words)
3 comments:
Beautifully creepy my friend. This piece was great!
What can I say? Angry teen telepaths are my specialty. Most dreams are so linear or clearly narrative, which can be very difficult to capture, but it can be good times to experiment with non-linear imagery.
I'm attempting to go non-dialogue this week. We'll see how long that lasts.
*I meant angry teen telekinetics. It's a psycho (or psychic) world.
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