Recurring Nightmare

An empty canvas on all six sides — like a cage with only nothingness, tricking my eyes at the expansiveness it lacked.

It was pure white. Pristine. Silent. Peaceful.

But not for long. My feet were rooted to the ground. Dotted blood prints gradually surrounded the wall until it formed a distinct shape. Crimson hand marks of various sizes filled my view. The howling of desperate pleas echoed behind me, the numbing fear rendering me immobile.

The familiarity only gnawed deeper as those cries were the same as I remembered. They were the people I once knew and people I had not really known until their deaths.

My pulse quickened like a fast painful thump buzzing in my ears.

Helplessness strangled my breath. Tiny streams of sweat trickled down my body, adding to the moist sheen already present as a second skin. But that was not all. I looked down to witness a crimson pool around me, climbing up my feet in supple ripples.

My eyes darted across the room, watching as the walls inched closer and the ceiling lowered. I simply stood there, still frozen in place, and bellows of fear were stuck in my throat.

The wailing had long diminished as the blood reached my neck. The room seemed to shrink and I couldn't stretch my arms the way I wanted to. A frightful dread made my skin crawl and my chest tightened in a panicking terror. The recurring fear engulfed me but this time I felt my body shake.