h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

[Last night I had a nightmare, and here's how it goes...]

Her parents were asleep upstairs and she sat with her sister in the kitchen. It was pleasant and warm, homely and comfortable as they shared wine and conversation, as so often in the past.

Her sister rose to a knock at the door, left the room. In an instant, the sound of gunshot led her to follow at a frantic, panicked pace. In the hall, she watched as her sister drew from her pocket an enormous, automatic firearm, which she lifted to aim at the strange man whose purple eye-shadow shone as he extended a crossbow from the threshold of the quiet family home.

"No!" she screamed, and again "No! No! No!" as the shots drew blood, threw guts, created carnage of the offender. An onslaught ensued. An endless stream of strangers, ever stranger, ever bigger, their features distorting, mutating. Hands enormous, red rage in their eyes, growing numbers surging forward on the attack.

Behind them, through the doorway, swelling clouds grew angry, painted psychedelic swirling dark depths and threw spirals of lightning. A vicious sea encroached, awesome waves of purple-black lapping the feet of monster-men, lending fierce passion to the force.

She was scared beyond fear, afraid beyond reason. It was an offensive of vicious proportions. She could not stop her screams, yet could not make herself heard. She fell to the ground.
A solid, boiling heat scorched her skin. Scrambling below the line of fire, she struggled up the alley of a hallway unrecognisable, which was turning to stone, cracking and spitting.

It was getting longer, growing further from the assailants so intent on the life of her timid sister, who stood now as if iron, firing shot after shot from an oversized firearm alien to her. The urgency pushed her faster. She must close the door, she must rescue her beloved elder from this awful experience. It was all down to her, but she was so far away.

She pushed and exerted and picked up her speed until soon she was flying, hovering above a ground passing swiftly beneath her. Passing her sister, the face she saw was old and hardened, aged and sad. She could not look, but pressed mightily on until she finally arrived at the red door, now engulfed in flames.

Aching, tired, bruised, and hurting, she managed with Herculean effort to push through the fire, scorching her body. She reached out, slammed shut the door.

Peace was restored.

Panting and burnt, she turned to survey the scene. Devasted. Carnage. The hallway now was restored to its unassuming interior, but everywhere was blood. Covering the walls. Spilling from vases. Dripping from the ceiling to fall on body parts below. Unlike anything. Incredible and upsetting beyond grief.

She held out her arms to her poor fragile sister, now silently immobile, the gun a toy in the palm of her hand. She took the thing, threw it, embraced the fair face of this girl so adored. Pulling her close, she nestled in the neck. Their skin was bloodied and sticky, rancid and grim.

She was scared and had only one certainty; they must leave. They must flee. They must go, could not stay to explain. She must take her sister and she knew then she would never return. For ever and as long as the future may hold, she would never again see the parents who slept now upstairs. Could not. Must not. Her presence would endanger them, upset them, anger them. Their children had murdered an army of weapon-wielding enemies who came from elsewhere. She could not expect any comprehension and her parents would be left with the vile messy remains.

She knew she must go and felt the pain of the burden of love grow large in her chest, like a cancerous clot, swelling at speed. It was too much to bear. The loss. Left bereft. The pain she could feel was destroying her; sobs engulfed all else. She let go her sister and fell, once again, to the floor, where she crumpled, drew herself in and in until she was lost. Nothing left at all but a small burning ball of pain and guilt, tears and regret.

[This is pure fiction, but makes for a neat end turning a bad dream to fine fiction...]

She opened the door and emerged from the dark of the disinfected doctor's surgery into the chill of a warm summer shower.

She was relieved. Armed, now, with a prescription ticket to a pill which would knock the evil dreams from her sleeping unconscious. Tonight her slumber would be mercifully free of unbearable images and distressing visions. With this knowledge she could face the day.

She put up her hood, turned her face for a moment upwards to the sky, letting raindrops fall refreshing on her skin. Then she started at a run for the bus stop, calculating the hours until bed and a drug-induced rest.

wow... you should be a writer.

Without a doubt the sweetest, the best, the loveliest compliment this girl can get. If it weren't for the obvious, overriding restrictions, I would pledge myself to you and all that is yours.

Thanks 'n' cheers 'n' beers 'n' more.

You seem to have pretty good nightmare recall, though whether that's a good thing is probably debatable.

Here's wishing you sweet(er) dreams (if you want them)

it is only your due!

and i wish *i* could remember dreams/nightmares that well, but i always seem to forget them in the morning. poor me.

No, that's not right. The dreams are good and better than that... next time I'll write one of those.
But the nightmares are awful, truly horrendous. This particular episode stopped my sleep for nights on end and stopped me functioning in the daytime.
When you have a nightmare like this, it's not something you leave behind on waking. The sweats, the screams, the terror; they are not left in fantasyland when dawn hits. Even writing the thing causes distress. Vivid (sometimes lucid) dreams are a wonderful thing that I am glad I have, but there is danger. Sometimes I am scared to close my eyes; often I wake early unable to sleep again.
My flat-mates are not alien to the idea of me waking them just to talk, all night. Until the sun rises.
Now, at least, I can stop my shut-eye with random chat on the internet (new computer) and I strongly believe the Guide will be a new outlet for old fears.
It's a long time since vicious thoughts invaded, and I know there must be a reason. Nightmares are not to be envied and I continually fail to understand their meaning.

But thanks for what I shall take as a compliment, because it's the first time I've posted my thoughts. Next time I'll make sure it's all good (please, please, please!)