Nightmares

K woke up with a start, screaming like a mad man, tiny beads of perspiration trickling down his forehead. Somewhere in the distance, the bells began to toll - signaling the start of the day, for they could no longer rely upon the sun to make his appearance and initiate their morning rituals. The nightmares were not new to K, he'd be having them ever since he could remember, but this one seemed very familiar - almost as if it had happened already! He lay for a while on his bed, trying hard to capture images of the fleeting nightmare. He was perpetually puzzled as to why he could never remember his dreams and nightmares once he woke up and lost track of time musing over these thoughts. Time! It had lost its significance in a world where each day is no different from the previous except perhaps in advancing the sense of dreariness that had come to dominate the lives of its inhabitants. K sat upright on his bed; his palms clenched on its edge, and stared outside. A thin veil of mist was rising from the lake, shrouding the town in obscurity. The clouds moved ominously, hanging dark and low in their attempt not to be outdone by the mist.

K took his time in getting ready; he would be lying if he said he was looking forward to the task at hand. He dreaded walking through the dark and dank streets to the other side of the town. Sure the pay was good, but that did little to alleviate his spirits. K had learned not to trust anyone too much, he thrust his revolver into his jacket and picking up an oddly shaped package wrapped in black from his table, he strode out of the apartment making as little noise as possible. Mrs. D his neighbour was an annoyingly inquisitive woman and he did not want to draw too much attention to himself today. As K exited the stairway he collided into a young lad, upsetting the pile of books the lad was carrying. Today was not the day to be polite thought K; he carried on leaving the kid to deal with the disarrayed stack on the floor.

As he made his way onto the murky street, a thin drizzle began, urging K, while swearing and muttering under his breath, to quicken his footsteps. He walked in long quick strides that produced a distinct sound - monotonous in its rhythm, and amplified by the stillness his neighbourhood. A sudden movement before his eyes pulled him out of his reverie, just in time to avoid collision with a little girl dressed completely in red, from the velvety new hat that nearly covered her eyes to her tiny bright shoes. His scowl was met with a cheerful smile from behind an ice-cream cone that was beginning to melt and causing little streams to flow down her fingers. Strange men delivering stranger packages to unknown recipients would do well not to pause in their journeys, and K was no novice - he trudged on, but in some deep vague corner of his mind, he realised that he had seen the girl before - but where? He glanced over his shoulder to catch another glimpse - but she was gone! To his greater dismay and consternation, he spotted other familiar faces! Was that woman following him? And the young kid on the other side of the street, he certainly had been following K from a distance - was he her accomplice? A closer inspection revealed him as the kid he had bumped into earlier. It just goes to show that you couldn't trust anyone these days, thought K.

K quickened his pace, nearly breaking into a run. There were no illusions in his mind as to what would happen if the package was opened and inspected. He took a sharp turn down an alley, hoping it was the right path. There was a trap door and a ladder in the 5th apartment from the street ends, or was it the 4th? He had to choose quick! Stealing a cursory glance towards the beginning of the street, he saw the kid reaching for a gun. K instinctively reached inside his jacket for his gun, only it wasn't there! He must have dropped it when he collided with the lad. Shrieking curses to the sky, he immediately flung himself into the nearest house, scrambling his way to the shed - to the trap door.

Images of being tortured in dingy cells and dungeons passed through K's mind, even as he fought to avoid them. He recalled stories of The Order's ingenious torture devices that he had heard at the local bar as a young lad in his twenties, before it had been blown away. He had never been as brave as the others; fear laid its cold stiff grip on his heart. As K fumbled open the trap door and began his descent, he slipped and realised the cruel jest fate had played upon him - the ladder itself was missing beyond a few steps, the rust having finally won its long fought battle against the metal bars . The kid was looking down at K, watching him struggle like a fly in a web, with a cruel smile curling on his lips. He was pointing at K's forehead, the end was near. A lot of things happened in the next moment simultaneously - K lost all hopes of a possible escape and with it the will to cling on for his life, he let go - the kid instead of shooting K, bent forward and offered his hand to K, to pull him up - and the worst of all, K to his incredulous horror realised that the gun in the kid's hand was his own, the kid had been following him to return the gun! The realisation of his paranoia smote him like a hot blade thrust deep into his body. With a final scream of anguish and despair, he fell into the nothingness that quickly engulfed him...

K woke up with a start, screaming like a mad man, tiny beads of perspiration trickling down his forehead. Somewhere in the distance, the bells began to toll...He lay for a while on his bed, trying hard to capture images of the fleeting nightmare. He was perpetually puzzled as to why he could never remember his dreams and nightmares once he woke up.